


RWBY by Night

by Selene_Sokal



Category: RWBY
Genre: Ageplay, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Corruption, F/F, F/M, Harems, Hubris, Humiliation, Master/Slave, Mind Break, Multi, Petplay, Sibling Incest, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selene_Sokal/pseuds/Selene_Sokal
Summary: In the shadows and darkness of Europe, vampires stalk the night, secretly controlling the institutions of the world and preying on humanity like cattle. But suddenly, major vampires start getting picked off, obviously the work of a Vampire Hunter, but no human could possibly be a threat to such powerful vampires. Unless, of course, he has a means to turn vampires against each other...Heads up, this story will be darker than most of my other works.
Relationships: Coco Adel/Jaune Arc, Jaune Arc/Blake Belladonna, Jaune Arc/Nora Valkyrie, Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos, Jaune Arc/Ruby Rose, Jaune Arc/Weiss Schnee, Jaune Arc/Winter Schnee, Jaune Arc/Yang Xiao Long, Melanie Malachite/Miltiades Malachite, Melanie Malachite/Weiss Schnee, Miltiades Malachite/Coco Adel, Pyrrha Nikos/Weiss Schnee, Weiss Schnee/Winter Schnee, Yang Xiao Long/Mulan Ren
Comments: 90
Kudos: 245





	1. The Vampire Hunter

Weiss swirled the dark red liquid in her goblet as she took in her friend’s warning.

A Vampire Hunter _was_ bad news, especially one notable enough that the Dragon of Thebes was concerned about him. At the same time… a Vampire Hunter was a _human,_ and vampires of _their_ talent and experience simply didn’t get bested by a single human. But Pyrrha Nikos was likely the most potent warrior on the continent, so… if she said be warned, Weiss would be warned.

“What would you suggest I do?” she asked, casually, careful not to show any emotion.

Pyrrha took a sip from her goblet before answering, appreciating the complex flavor. “Is this… it can’t be _virgin’s_ blood, can it?” 

“A _technical_ virgin,” Weiss smirked, “I find it gives the blood a bit of _kick,_ while still retaining the smoother finish of a virgin’s.”

“You’ve always been Europe’s finest connoisseur of blood,” Pyrrha replied with a wry grin, but then darkened. “A talent I would hate to see vanish from our time. You need to be aware, Weiss. This is a Vampire Hunter of unparalleled danger that is moving towards Austria and I would recommend you lay low for a while and simply… let him pass through. He’s capable of...” Pyrrha trailed off into silence.

Odd of Pyrrha to ever lose her composure like that. She was an iron-willed beast, whose mental fortitude was only matched by her physical. “What is he capable of?” Weiss asked, jogging her memory.

Pyrrha blinked in surprise. “Oh, I’m… terribly sorry, I… got lost in a thought. No, he’s… he’s capable of… it’s hard to say. Mostly working off of rumor, but he’s successfully left a trail of destruction in his wake after effectively springing up out of nowhere in Strasbourg.”

“You were in Strasbourg recently,” Weiss said in surprise, “Did you-”

“No,” Pyrrha quickly corrected her, “I was fortunate, I… did not encounter the man directly, but I knew many of his first targets. I was fortunate enough to flee the city once I realized someone was targeting the eldest vampires of the region—that’s his calling card, I suspect. He leaves the younger kindred be. I don’t know if he’s being sporting or if he knows they’ll be thinned out in the power vacuum he creates.”

Weiss leaned back in her chair. This was… not what she had expected to hear from Pyrrha. She had thought her friend was merely being _polite,_ spreading gossip, giving her an early warning of a possible troublemaker and, in true Pyrrha spirit, warning her against arrogance, but this… this was a threat Weiss hadn’t anticipated ever hearing about a _human._

“Roman!” she cried, “What has _Roman_ done to-”

“Roman was his first target,” Pyrrha shrugged, “Had him staked, then ashed in the sunlight.”

“So it is a human...” Weiss suddenly felt light-headed, “Or, perhaps someone posing as one? Could he be a mage or a werewolf or some kind of-”

“We don’t know. But he _operates_ like a human Vampire Hunter, so I would recommend just keeping your head down, laying low, and coming back after he’s passed through. _I cannot stress this enough, Weiss,”_ Pyrrha said, a sudden insistence in her voice, _“I fled for a reason, do not pursue this human.”_

That something could drive Pyrrha to flee… if Weiss still had a heartbeat, it’d be _pounding_ in her chest right now.

However, as shocked as she was, Weiss was still an apex predator, and that meant her mind was never truly taken off its rhythm. “But...” she slowly connected the pieces, “If you know he’s coming here, you must be tracking him, and...”

“It’s too early to-”

“But together we could-”

“IT IS TOO EARLY!” Pyrrha commanded with a thunderous force that made Weiss almost lose her composure. Whoever this human was… he could rattle Pyrrha Nikos. And that was more frightening than anything she’d heard so far about this man.

But there was one question that she still wanted answered. “Does he have a name?” she asked.

Pyrrha stared at her quietly, evidently weighing her options before finally speaking. “Jaune Arc,” she said, “But you must not pursue him. Under no circumstances may you pursue him!”

* * *

After Pyrrha’s departure, Weiss immediately began making plans to leave, to make arrangements to keep her vast landholdings and herd stable while she went to visit her sister in Switzerland, but as she was writing her letters to her various thralls and unwitting dupes, she realized… she was thinking about _retreating._

Her. A _Schnee._ Who’d survived the era of burnings, any number of mortal upheavals, and, through it all, constantly adapted, constantly _outwitted_ all her rivals and opponents. And now, she was thinking to… to _flee?_

What madness was this?

Pyrrha was a dear friend, and a truly ancient and powerful vampire, supposedly thousands of years old, but she was a fighter, first and foremost. She was the brawn, and Weiss had learned that strength always had limits… but the mind had none.

This “Jaune Arc” must have expected to encounter more lazy, well-fattened vampire lords used to comfortable living and easy blood, relying more on their mastery of the calcified and petty politics of their ancient systems and rules, but Weiss was not like that. She earned everything she held, clawed it from the hands of her foes and never became comfortable in her position. She was a Schnee, and until the _entire world_ was hers, she would _never_ cease striving.

So instead she made plans to _best_ this foolish mortal who thought he could aspire to be a predator in her world. She would go forth from her castle and _seek_ Jaune Arc out and _remind_ him who was predator… and who was prey.

* * *

He wasn’t all that difficult to find, but Weiss had a hypnotic gaze and this was her territory—not much could be hidden from her. He was traveling under an assumed name, but it was easy enough to punch through his subterfuges and find where the man himself was staying. All too easy, really—humans might think of themselves as subtle or clever, but Weiss was a creature of the darkness. Hiding, deception, and manipulation was in her nature, taking the space that once belonged to _breathing._

A search of his room confirmed she had found her Vampire Hunter. Unless a _tourist_ had a reason for a crossbow, wooden stakes, and papers from the Order of St. Longinus. It was… a little too obvious. A human overestimating himself and getting a few lucky kills, burning a legend before he burnt out… Weiss could buy that. But this felt like… like it wasn’t a mistake.

It felt like a trap.

So rather than confront him when he returned to his room, interrogating him for what he knew, and then draining his blood to leave as a warning, Weiss decided it would be wiser to _watch and wait,_ to observe him a little longer, directly, and see what he really was.

No one knew this fact about her—she killed those who discovered without giving them a chance to let the information spread—but Weiss had a few powers she never revealed to anyone. As her alabaster skin suddenly _bristled,_ claws emerged from her fingers, and the ground rose up to meet her as she _shrunk,_ Weiss morphed into a small white cat. An almost unobtrusive presence, just another alley cat in Salzburg. Taking her perch on a rooftop across the way, she blended in perfectly as she watched through the window as her _prey_ returned.

But before she could watch him, she realized… a bat had flown through his window. Not the behavior of a wild bat. Was she not the only one to make her move? This would be interesting, and Weiss started to idly wonder which of the gutter kindred that lived beneath her notice had finally discovered some ambition...

Arc didn’t seem surprised to see it. Which either spoke to his skill, _or,_ she wondered, it might mean she had a _traitor_ in her ranks… But as the bat started to _grow,_ it’s red fur becoming a cascading waterfall of red hair and… pale white skin…

It was Pyrrha.

Pyrrha was- _impossible!_ Weiss had known Pyrrha for over a _hundred_ years and she was not the sort to consort with a human! She rarely even spoke with _vampires,_ so much of her own kind was that far beneath her! She was the _Dragon of Thebes,_ the _greatest_ vampire of Europe! And she… she was…

She was kneeling… before… before a human…

Disbelieving her sight, which should be _unfailing,_ should be so much better than any human’s… it must be a trick! An illusion! This “Jaune Arc” was a sorcerer of some kind, he _had_ to be, it was…

But before her eyes, she watched as Pyrrha extended her neck towards him—an _unthinkable_ sign of submission—as Arc clasped… a collar around her neck. Her emerald eyes glowed with an unnatural light and then… Pyrrha _sighed,_ her posture relaxing.

“Did you have a good journey, my pet?” he asked, his _unbearably_ smug voice crystal-clear in Weiss’s enhanced hearing, “I must admit, I did miss you these past few days.”

Weiss didn’t miss how Pyrrha’s face had a pure look of _longing_ to hear that this filthy _human_ missed her.

“I… I did,” she said, her voice weak and trembling, something _unimaginable_ to Weiss even a day ago, “I… _MASTER!”_ she suddenly sobbed, “F-forgive your wicked pet! I- I was _bad,_ Master, I was disobedient without my collar and I did- I did a _bad thing,_ and I am so, so _sorry,_ please forgive-”

“It’s alright,” he replied, gently stroking Pyrrha’s cheek, “I had a feeling your _insistence_ that we head to Bucharest and... not spend more than a night in _Salzburg_ meant there was something wrong with you. But you’re wearing your collar again and now you’re free of all those nasty disobedient thoughts.”

Suddenly, Weiss realized that being in Salzburg right now might have been a mistake.

“Y-yes Master, thank you, Master!” she wept, bloody tears, as crimson as her hair, streaming down her face, “Th-thank you for your mercy on your unworthy _beast,_ but I- I- I _warned_ a friend that you were coming, that she should hide and escape your justice.”

Fear, the sort of fear Weiss hadn’t felt since she was a human, back in the days of Charlemagne, suddenly froze her in place. 

“Oh?” he cocked an eye at Pyrrha, “A friend?”

“A-another _worthless, soulless vessel like myself!”_ Pyrrha cried, beating her breast with her fist, “I- I had _deceived_ myself into thinking that- that any of my wretched kin could be worthy of love without your guidance and wisdom, and- and...” Pyrrha broke into incoherent sobs.

 _Run._ Weiss’s instincts were screaming at her. _Run. Run now, run and run and run and don’t stop running until the sun comes up and then run even further when it sets. Run to Africa or China or the Americas, just run and run and RUN, YOU FOOL!_

But she couldn’t. Because it wasn’t just fear. It was her _curse._

She was watching the mightiest vampire of Europe _humiliate_ herself before a filthy human. She couldn’t resist it; it was like a drug, and Weiss’s senses _drank_ in the sight of her supposed better being cast down, unable to look away, unable to remove herself from this incredible danger.

“There, there, my sweet pet,” the Hunter continued, his voice full of mocking sympathy, “It’s not your fault. You lack a soul, making you an inhuman monstrosity that only has value in your service to me.”

“Yes, yes,” Pyrrha sniffled, “I- I’m so worthless, I deserve to be cast aside, I don’t deserve my Master’s affection and love.”

“But you can redeem yourself. You did such a good job with Count Winchester-” Weiss suddenly realized that it _hadn’t_ been a power play when Cardin hadn’t shown up to their meeting last week, “-that I know you’ll be able to redeem yourself. Just… tell me where we can find her and she won’t be a problem for you anymore.”

Without hesitating, Pyrrha’s arm swung out. Pointing directly at Weiss on the rooftop.

Now was the time to run.

She barely heard the words “get her,” before Weiss felt a blow _slam_ into her back, sending her tumbling across the rooftop, tiles scattering behind her. Snapping back into vampiric form, she saw Pyrrha Nikos, the Dragon of Thebes, illuminated in the moonlight.

And Weiss learned what fear meant.

Weiss was old and powerful enough to defeat most vampires in direct combat, but she wasn’t as combat-specialized as some of her equals, and this was _Pyrrha._ Still… this was a matter of unlife or final death, and Weiss had survived for hundreds of years by _refusing to ever give up._ With a snarl, she charged Pyrrha, but she moved with a sudden burst of speed, unfollowable even to Weiss’s eyes, and so she simply took another hit, right into her chest, hurling her backwards, sprawling as she tumbled down into the alley.

As fast as the blow, Pyrrha was again on top of her.

“I fought at _Troy,_ Weiss.”

It was a statement, but not a non-sequitur. Weiss was not in Pyrrha’s league, and she did not have a hope of victory here. Struggling, futilely, in Pyrrha’s grasp, she desperately searched for something, _anything_ that could save her. But it was a fool’s game, and Pyrrha dragged her back, hissing and snarling, throwing her down on her knees before the human.

“You- you _bastard,”_ she snarled, “You fucking- fucking- you _bastard!”_

“My, my,” he said, breezily, “and I had heard so much about Austria’s Dark Lady, who could enchant a man with only a word...”

“Fuck you!” she spat, “F-fuck you, you limp-dick, you- you can’t get laid, so you had to enslave a girl to get a chance with-”

“Before you judge me,” Arc said, a growl entering his voice, “don’t forget: you, and your entire wretched kind, are a _blight_ upon the world. Parasites who feed on humans—on our wealth, our labor, our very _blood.”_

Weiss sneered. “Because you’re just _cattle._ Animals without any rights or purpose than to be _food_ for your betters. Whatever magic you have in that collar won’t last forever, and soon, you’ll learn what a _mistake_ you’ve made.”

He stared at her for a while… and then chuckled.

“I’m not actually a Vampire Hunter, you know.”

“Couldn’t have guessed,” she hissed, “what with your total incompetence you idiotic- _OW!”_

A sudden pain lanced through her entire body. “Show some respect you worthless bitch,” Pyrrha growled.

“It’s alright, pet,” he said, and Pyrrha relaxed her grip slightly. Maybe- maybe there was a chance here?

Arc kept speaking, unaware of the gears turning in Weiss’s mind. “I was an archivist, working to manage old books and papers and letters, and I was quite good at my job. So I got promoted… or more accurately, _recruited._ You see, the Order of St. Longinus, who I believe your kind have more than a passing familiarity with, are a very old order. And their records were just as old and, as you might guess, just as disorganized. And I was hired to go through and manage the Black Archive of Strasbourg—over a thousand years of records and correspondence about _your_ histories and attacks, your weaknesses and defeats, and I sorted through it.”

“So you’re a paper pusher,” she interrupted, “Did you learn how to _bore_ a vampire to death?”

“No, alas, it would be _quite_ the weapon though… but rather, I found that the Black Archive didn’t only keep _records,_ but also artifacts. And that’s when I found,” he gestured towards the collar on Pyrrha’s neck.

Weiss gave a forced, barking laugh. “You’re an idiot! An artifact won’t last forever, and Pyrrha is far more powerful than _you_ could ever understand! Once its magic fails, like all human enchantments, it will-”

“What if I told you that I don’t believe it is human? That it comes from a _higher_ power, an _older_ power than even your race?”

Weiss paled. “Im-impossible! It- it’s just an artifact! There’s no- no way such a thing- you’re bluffing!”

“One way to test it,” he smirked. “Pet? If you don’t mind, I’d like to _keep_ this one… I’m going to take the collar off and I’d like you to put it on our guest.”

Weiss didn’t know if she could get paler, but the thought of… _serving_ this miserable _human,_ the refuse of the world, filled her with an unbearable dread. But she also realized that there was a flaw in his plan. Pyrrha had already revealed that, with the collar off, she could resist her commands...

She heard the click as Arc removed the collar. She felt Pyrrha’s hand release her grip on her as she took the collar, and Weiss saw her chance.

 _Darting_ forward, using all her strength to break from Pyrrha’s viselike grip, she whirled and relied on her single _greatest_ strength: her words.

“Pyrrha!” she cried, “You can resist! Without the magic controlling you, you can resist his commands! You are the Dragon of-”

Pyrrha _slammed_ into her, knocking her to the floor, knocking the wind out of her—Weiss didn’t need to breathe, but she certainly needed her diaphragm to speak, and Weiss knew that her speech was her only chance to break this _monster’s_ hold on Pyrrha!

“-the Dragon! The g-greatest of us, the m-most powerful of vampires, n-not some human’s pet!” she wheezed.

But Pyrrha looked upon her with a cold fury. “Once you’ve _submitted_ to your proper Master, then he will _return_ the collar to my neck and _I_ will be Master’s favorite pet, you _whore.”_

And with that, Weiss’s eyes went wide as Pyrrha looped the collar around her neck and then…

There was a clasp.

She gasped. She- her heart, her- her _heart!_ It was…

It was beating.

There was warmth in her cheeks, there was blood running through her veins. She was breathing again, every _lungful_ of air flooding her with hope and _life,_ she remembered the feeling of the sun shining on her, the warmth on her skin, something she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed, not with the centuries in between, but it was so, so _good,_ and-

And then it was gone.

In an instant, it was all _torn_ away from her, all feeling of life, of warmth, of love, of her _soul_ suddenly gone, torn from her so violently that she _instantly_ realized the infinite gap between her lost humanity and what she had now. How _inescapably hollow_ vampirism was, how _unbearable_ the thought of spending another day, much less _centuries_ as a loveless, lifeless _creature,_ a mockery of humanity, a creature who deserved _nothing_ but scorn!

“No,” she gasped, “no, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!”

“Of course you’re sorry,” Pyrrha sneered, “You’re realizing how _stupid_ you’ve been.”

“Please,” she begged Pyrrha, “p-please, help me!”

“I’m as much of a worthless shell as you are. Only _he_ can help you.”

Weiss whirled to look at… at…

There was a warmth inside him. His life’s blood _pulsed_ in his heart, _bloomed_ on his face, and Weiss felt a terrible desire within her. Not her hunger, no, but a more _painful_ desire. The thought that even the slightest _touch_ of his warmth, even the most basic act of pity would sustain her. She would do _anything_ for him to even look upon her with kindness, and, throwing herself prostrate before him, she cried out, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I don’t- I don’t _deserve_ your pity, but please, please, forgive me!” She racked her mind for what Pyrrha had done, that look of longing she had seen on her face being so infinitely desirable right now that Weiss desperately needed to do whatever Pyrrha did as _well as possible._ “Oh, Master!” she wept, “I- I can help you, I can give you names, locations, safehouses, _anything_ you need! I can show you how to cripple all the most powerful families in all of Europe, and then you can descend upon them and- _Oh GOD!”_

He smiled at her.

And his smile _shattered_ Weiss’s mind.

Sex was not often a consideration of vampires. Usually, it was more of a statement or a hobby than anything pleasurable, considered highly inferior to the erotic potency of draining a victim’s blood, but Weiss’s pleasure centers practically _exploded_ as she received his smile. She came so hard she nearly blacked out, her limbs, empowered by vampiric strength, buckled and gave way, until she was just a gurgling mess, lying on the floor of a hotel room, with the only thought her fried mind was capable of holding was that she needed to smile at her _again._

Still too dizzy and worthless to properly beg, she still struggled, her weak and useless tongue attempting to thank him for his kindness, his extraordinary grace, but Master signaled for her to stop, and so Weiss did without a second thought.

“Well, Pyrrha, I suppose you’re a _much_ stronger vampire than our little Snow Angel here-”

Receiving a nickname, especially one as tender as “Snow Angel” brought Weiss to another explosive climax right on the floor.

“-you actually managed to resist the collar for a little while. Almost able to tell me ‘no’ when I gave you your first command, and this little slut just came her _brains_ out when I smiled at her.”

“I- I’m sorry, Master,” Pyrrha said, reproachfully, “There is no punishment I don’t deserve for my willful disobedience. B-beat me, choke me, use my lecherous body to satisfy your own desires!”

Weiss was still struggling to put thoughts together, but a wild, mad hope had managed to take root in her mind. If she was more obedient than Pyrrha… then Master would like her more, and then… then… 

_Bliss,_ pure bliss, washed over her. Something as hopeless and worthless as herself could never _dream_ of ever having true love and happiness, but perhaps, she’d be able to _prove_ what a good servant she was and then she might receive his affection!

“Help your new sister onto the bed,” Master instructed Pyrrha, “because I think you’ve just given me an idea for what I’d like to do now...”

“F-fank yuuuuu,” she slurred as Pyrrha helped her onto the bed. Master… Master approved of her body! As exhausted and broken as she was, she would do _everything_ to make sure he never thought he’d made a mistake for sparing her from her well-deserved final death.

“Undress her… and do a good job, and you might get a reward, too, pet.”

Weiss wasn’t sure what that meant, but as Pyrrha started to unlace her corset, she began to kiss and lick Weiss’s neck, a surprising experience (she had thought, at first, that she was going to _bite_ her), but a glance at Master revealed his approval of Pyrrha’s behavior and suddenly Weiss was _delighted_ to submit to her sapphic attention.

As she freed Weiss’s breasts from her confines, she moved her kisses downward, and Weiss knew that Master would want her to make her pleasure evident as she moaned and writhed on the bed.

“You’re going to be a good pet, aren’t you?”

She heard his whisper in her ear, _flooding_ Weiss’s mind with hope and desire for perfect submission. “Yes, Master! I’ll- I’ll be good! I’ll be so good!”

More than good. The _best._ She was a pathetic and hopeless _thing,_ but with Master’s love and care, she felt like there was some _reprieve_ from her hopeless misery. And she was already ahead of Pyrrha, the stupid bitch who didn’t realize to properly submit to her rightful human Master and almost let Weiss get away! Feeling the stupid cunt’s tongue in her pussy only reminded Weiss that she should learn her proper place-

“And you and Pyrrha are going to get along, right?”

Her and Pyrrha? The Pyrrha who was eating her pussy so wonderfully? How could she ever think of Pyrrha as anything but her dearest friend and sister? She’d gladly return the favor for her Master’s amusement, and she’d certainly work _so_ closely with her to help Master wipe the vampire scourge from the face of the Earth! They could share the blessed collar, of course, they weren’t so stupid to believe they might _deserve_ it!

“Of- of course! We’ll be the best pair of vampire slaves any man could ask for!”

He chuckled, and Weiss’s heart _soared._

“Now… I’ll have more instructions for you later, particularly in how you two can help me… expand my operations. But that’ll be for later. For now… is she ready yet, pet?”

Pyrrha looked up from Weiss’s pussy, eager to be of service, “She’ll _always_ be ready for you, like a good thrall!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, making Weiss _swoon,_ even more so as he began to undress, revealing his wonderful, perfect stake, a weapon no vampiress could possibly stand against!

Plunging his cock into her, Weiss cried out in pure, joyful pleasure.

* * *

“A Conclave? To be hosted in Strasbourg? Weiss, you must realize that this is a _highly_ irregular request...”

Weiss smiled at the vampire seated across from her, the Lady of Lucerne, ruler of all Switzerland’s vampires, and arguably the wealthiest woman on the continent, living or undead. “But surely you agree… if there exists a _human_ capable of decimating the leadership of Strasbourg, along with my discovery that the Order of St. Longinus has a chapter headquartered there, it paints a picture we cannot ignore. A Conclave would help stabilize the vampiric community, allowing us to ensure a smooth redistribution of lands and herding rights, as well as meet any such human aggression with _overwhelming_ force.”

“And who else will be there?” the Lady asked, careful not to imply Weiss's argument had moved her.

Weiss started counting off on her fingers. “Coco Adel of Paris, Blake Belladonna of Milan, Ruby Rose of London, and Melanie and Miltia Malachite of Bucharest have already agreed to represent their regions,” _and another you don’t know,_ Weiss continued in her head, knowing that this plan would _surely_ earn her some of Master’s precious love. She would prove she wasn’t as weak as Pyrrha was, wouldn’t succumb to such deceitful thoughts as she took out the highest vampiric authorities of Europe!

“Oh? All women? I hope this isn’t an _agenda_ like with the de Pizan situation...”

But Weiss merely gave her a knowing smile. “Well, you know how _Pyrrha Nikos_ is, she’s from a time where women-”

Her eyes were wide now. “Pyrrha Nikos is part of this?”

“Who do you think is the Guarantor of the Conclave? I’m merely putting it all together.”

Her companion looked stunned. As Weiss well knew, for Pyrrha to get involved in vampiric politics was quite a big deal. Though there wasn’t one other vampire for a thousand miles who could have guessed _why_ she’d suddenly taken such an interest in the leadership of European vampires... particularly the most _beautiful_ of them.

“Well, then, I suppose I couldn’t refuse Pyrrha Nikos...” and then she laughed, “Come on, sister, you _know_ you have to lead with that! You’re making me feel like you were _trying_ to make a fool out of me.”

“Oh, Winter,” she smiled, “you know I’d never try to make a fool out of you.”

_Not when I’m trying to make you my Master’s newest slave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde for feedback on this chapter, and thanks to reader An Arkos Fan who requested a Vampyrrha chapter to my RWBY Monstergirls story, which evolved into this.
> 
> And I mentioned this in the summary, but it bears repetition that this will be a much darker work than I usually write, especially as the story goes on. So if you enjoyed my goofier comedy porn like She's Trying Her Best, this is very much not that.


	2. The Conclave

Winter strode through the manor that once belonged to the Lord of Strasbourg, Roman Torchwick, admiring it’s gaudy extravagance.

Oh, it was _hideous,_ all far too much with no thought for how every layer of gold leaf might clash with the rest of the room, but there was something admirable in his singular commitment to his tastelessness. And, as a vampire, Winter rarely had a chance to _admire_ one of her fellows except when they were safely and forever deceased. Even with her sister, she was wary, careful to never forget that they were not humans, but _predators,_ and that meant the gentler bonds of sisterly love were kept strong by living almost five hundred kilometers away.

“Ugh, I’m starting to _regret_ coming here...”

Of course, not all of her peers had such feelings towards their deceased colleague.

“Why Coco,” she said, her voice as melodious as it was threatening, “don’t tell me that _tastelessness_ is a vulnerability of yours.”

Coco Adel, the Princess of Paris, just laughed off the barb. “If it was,” she grinned, “the Vatican would have a _much_ easier time taking me out. But, unfortunately for them, the last few Hunters they’ve sent after me had as much skill with combat as they did with _fashion,_ so they were hardly a threat.”

“Perhaps we should investigate if our _host’s_ killer was a fashionable sort...”

“Oh, I do hope so,” Coco replied, her voice dripping with a teasing malice, “Been too long since I had to remind some uppity bitch that _I_ am the Queen of Couture for a reason.”

They shared a laugh at that. Winter had no _love_ for Coco, even by the standards of their kind, and even less love for her gaudy, extravagant outfits, but they at least understood each other. Not like the _rest_ of their Conclave. Though, speaking of…

“Am I the last to arrive?” she asked, “I had expected I would be the last, due to a matter in Bern I had to resolve before I could travel here.”

Coco shook her head. “We’re still waiting on Rose, but… if it wasn’t for the fact that she was fucking...” then she smiled, darkly, “Ah, I forgot who I was speaking to. Please, think nothing of my slip of the tongue.”

Her words were sweetly poisoned, but Winter knew how to play the game of intrigue and insult as well as Coco did, particularly when it came to her sister’s… _closeness_ to London’s Reaper, and knew not to rise to it. 

“But the Malachites have arrived already, and, unfortunately, so has Belladonna.”

“Oh?” Winter looked at her archly, “When last I heard, you and Belladonna were on good terms.”

“We were,” she sighed, “until I found my latest muse in her court. And you know how I am, once I’ve found a pretty bauble, I can’t rest until she’s _mine._ But Velvet’s _much_ happier with me, not that that Milanese _cow_ understands it.”

There was opportunity in that, clear opportunity, but Winter knew it was a trap and, more importantly, a distraction. 

Still a fight between Paris and Milan would almost certainly give her some leverage. Though, more importantly, it would also be quite _funny_ to see the two of them tear each other apart. Give her some much-needed entertainment at this Conclave.

“Well, I should seek out my sister. Oh! And I almost forgot—have you seen our host?”

Winter was quite eager for her answer. There was not a vampire in all of Europe more renowned than Pyrrha Nikos. Most believed her to be a myth, or just a Greek upstart who had tried to take up a legend that wasn’t hers. But through her sister’s shocking closeness to the reclusive vampire, Winter knew exactly how _powerful_ the Dragon of Thebes was. And if she wasn’t the “real” Pyrrha Nikos, well, the difference was academic.

But Coco grew quiet at the question. “I met her when I arrived, but… I haven’t seen her since. She greeted the Malachites and Belladonna, and I’m sure she’ll come for you, too, but… she’s keeping her distance.”

“Well, she is famous for that.”

“Yes, but...” Winter, who was supernaturally good at reading the tells of even the greatest, most subtle liars of her kind, could see the flash of concern strike across her face, “heh, I don’t doubt you saw that,” she looked to Winter with a wry grin, “But yes, I _am_ worried. Something’s not right here. There’s no _human_ that can frighten Pyrrha Nikos, but this secrecy, this evasiveness...”

“The Conclave’s the bait...”

Coco’s eyes lit up in surprise. “What? You- how can-”

But Winter’s mind was already moving a mile a minute. Some vampires extended their influence through brute force or networks of blood-bound slaves. Winter prided herself on achieving her control of Switzerland through nothing that she couldn’t have done as a human, using her strategic mind to dominate the political and economic realm alongside the supernatural. And here, from only what she knew from Weiss and now from Coco, she could already see the pieces coming together.

“Pyrrha is hoping that the Order of St. Longinus couldn’t _resist_ such a target. Her enemy’s strength is their ability to disappear so invisibly, and the need to _strike_ us will force them to reveal themselves.”

“How _rude,”_ Coco sniffed, “I prefer _not_ to be used without my consent, but… I do believe that the lot of us could _easily_ manage anything a _human_ has… before we even bring Pyrrha into the equation.”

Winter smirked. _That_ was certainly true!

* * *

At that moment, Pyrrha was currently struggling to manage what a human had.

With her lips lovingly wrapped around his shaft, she struggled to take him all the way to the base. Her difficulty was not with a gag reflex, no, but with the fact that this _connection_ to her Master made her feel so wonderfully _complete_ that she struggled to stay focused on her task and not become distracted by the warmth and love that was now flooding her.

She had lost her soul thousands of years ago. Before writing, before calendars, before modern numbers came into being, which made it hard for her to _grasp_ how long it had been. She’d seen so much change around her, while she remained constant. Empires rose and fell, languages flourished and disappeared, new technologies emerged and reshaped the world, and ambitious upstarts believed that they were the greatest warrior of their kind.

And through it all, Pyrrha had stood alone. Unmatched. Unequaled.

Until now. Until her Master, her beloved, _worshipful_ Master, reminded her of what she had lost. With the sacred Collar now wrapped, painfully and lovingly, around her neck, Pyrrha could once again feel, even if it was only the faintest, flickering _hint,_ the warmth of a soul. And pleasuring him, either in her loyal service or tending to his bodily needs, made that spark burn so much brighter. It was like she was _alive_ again, and it was a feeling of incomparable wonder and awe.

As he spurted down her throat, she sighed in contentment as she felt the sticky warmth slide down to her belly, tears running down her face as she struggled to manage the sheer, serene _joy_ of being useful to him.

“Damn,” he moaned, “Just… _damn,_ Pyr, you give one _hell_ of a blowjob.”

She giggled like a blushing maiden to receive such a compliment. “Anything my Master desires,” she said with a smoky allure, nuzzling his dick against her cheek and hoping him to desire _more_ of her.

The smile on his face and the _twitch_ of his cock made Pyrrha feel like she was close to what she perpetually longed for.

Ah, but of course, that was when she felt the cold chill of the night air as she knew that Weiss had joined them.

“Master,” she said, morphing from her cat form as she gave a respectful curtsy, “My sister has arrived. She suspects nothing—or, well, she _suspects_ that this is a trap, but a trap meant to lure _you_ in, with us as the bait. She does not know how close she is to realizing that there is a _freedom_ from her wretchedness.”

Pyrrha liked Weiss. Even though she now knew that a broken thing like her was incapable of feeling anything like love, she was glad that Master had been merciful to the both of them, rather than order Weiss staked. That the two of them could serve him together brought her great joy, even as it necessitated sharing the Collar. But…

Did she have to _interrupt_ her, right when she was so close to getting what she wanted?

Master, of course, was not concerned with such trivial things as what one of his slave-husks wanted. He merely nodded with a smile. “You’ve taken to betraying your sister very well Weiss.”

She beamed with pride at the compliment. “I’ve realized that _true_ betrayal would be leaving her without a chance at your mercy, my Master. I am endlessly grateful that you have not only spared my worthless life, but that you grace my sister as well.”

“All of our guests will be so grateful to you,” Pyrrha added, “I cannot _wait_ until their thoughts are no longer in error.”

“Your compassion is a finer gift than any of us could ever deserve,” Weiss added with a sigh.

It was true. Pyrrha was such a monstrous, unlovable _thing,_ but she had been—while not redeemed, no such power could redeem something as lost as her—granted a wholly undesired grace from her blessed Master.

She had been arrogant, once. Deluded. Her long unlife and unmatched power had made her think thoughts above her station. Made her believe that she was _powerful_ instead of broken, in control rather than lost, independent when all she craved was the loving guidance of a better man than her.

She had become so monstrously misguided that she had believed that she was able to defeat any foe, _any foe whatsoever,_ and when she heard a rumor on the wind that an archivist in Europe had found a long-buried Relic that could destroy any vampire, Pyrrha heard that rumor and felt a long-quieted stirring in her cold, black heart.

_A challenge._

After thousands of years of roaming the earth and slaying the greatest foes she could find, of mastering her curse until the very _Sun_ was no longer much more than a nuisance, Pyrrha realized that this was her chance to do battle with _God Himself_ and prove her mettle against the greatest foe any could battle.

It was not hard to find the Archive. Nor hard to find the archivist and to threaten him into compliance with but a glare. Trembling, he led her to the Collar, mumbling some tedious explanation about its history that Pyrrha ignored as she clasped it in her hands and bound it around her throat.

Only to discover that it wasn’t a _challenge_ she had found, but a _revelation._

And there was no way to fight against it. There was no _opponent_ here, none but herself and the utter emptiness of her life.

In desperate, terrified defeat, she turned to the archivist and realized the utter _pain_ of beholding the contrast between them. He had a soul and warmth and humanity, making him so much greater, so much _more_ than she could ever be. She clutched at his leg and _begged_ him to have pity for her, to give her even the barest token of affection that would make her hellish unlife even partially bearable. As he gave her hesitant, timid orders, she _obeyed,_ tears running down her cheeks as she carried them out, the rush of _feeling_ that came from being useful to her Master filled her with a contentment that made her broken soul _ache._

That he found her body pleasurable and her powers useful gave her something to cling to, a desperate piece of flotsam she could use as a life raft. Even though she was undeserving, even though she had _attempted_ to disobey… she could never express the depths of her gratitude that she had been forgiven. She _needed_ to repay him. Endlessly. _Desperately._

Looking to Weiss, Pyrrha licked her lips. It seemed that her fellow slave had the same _need,_ and, well, their Master would _surely_ enjoy it more if he was being serviced by the both of them…

“Master,” she began, reverently, cupping Weiss’s small breasts in her hand as she began to undress her, “Do you desire any other service of your thralls?”

The look in his eyes said “yes” and made both girls sigh in pleasure. Weiss started trembling beneath her touch—there was no greater reward than their Master’s approval.

On hands and knees, they crawled towards him, the two vampires, once names feared throughout Europe, now as stripped of their titles, their illusions, as they were of their clothes. Crawling into his lap, Pyrrha sighed as she let his “stake” impale her, feeling Weiss’s head beneath her, licking his shaft and sucking on his balls as Pyrrha started moving up and down, hoping for _another_ gift from her wonderful Master!

“Ohhh… that’s good… such good girls,” his words made both Pyrrha and Weiss _squeal_ in ecstasy, “And you’ve done such a good job with this Conclave.”

“Th-thank you, Master!” Pyrrha panted, struggling from the dual assault of his cock and his compliments.

“But now it’s time to put your plan into motion. And I’d like to start with… Belladonna. She’s certainly a fetching Italian beauty, and I think I’d _enjoy_ her in my bed.”

“Of- of course! Any- anything you w-waaaaaaant!” Pyrrha gasped, knowing she was so _close_ to his release. “They- they’ll all fall to you! All of ‘em! They’re all- _oh,-_ ALL YOOOOUUUUURS!”

Pyrrha screamed as she felt the warm _gush_ of pleasure enter her, along with the feeling of Weiss’s tongue as she eagerly lapped up as much of the cum leaking out of her pussy as she could.

Her Master _pushed_ her off of him, and she tumbled to the floor, where Weiss eagerly set about licking up as much of his tasty cream as she could. Pyrrha knew to put on a good show, moaning and writhing lasciviously as Weiss ate her out.

“You know… as hot and obedient as you two are,” he said, a mocking sneer in his voice, “I’m starting to become _fond_ of you...”

The _blast_ of warmth and emotion that overcharged Pyrrha’s soul upon hearing that made both her and Weiss scream another orgasm as it overpowered their senses and forced Pyrrha, the invincible, the Dragon of Thebes, to pass out.

* * *

Vampires thought themselves as far above humans as humans believed they were above animals.

Blake knew they were all fools.

There was no great chain of being, no hierarchy that rewarded kings and tyrants for their birth, nor some great cosmic order that placed humanity above the cattle. All there was was _strength,_ and those who took that strength were above those who did _not._ She was born a slave, but had fought her way to power. Using subtle means, she seduced, tricked, and poisoned her way into becoming a Merchant Princess, a word that did not exist, because her existence was, of course, not real. All the better for her—titles were only targets. Even when she and her entourage was attacked by a man who could become a beast, who slaughtered her guards and drained her blood, who raised her back up as a vampire, bearing his curse, she did not take that defeat as anything but another form of slavery to struggle over.

But when she betrayed Adam and slew him to free herself of _his_ tyranny, she knew that she still was not free.

There was, she had learned, no freedom. Just as she had been bound to her master as a slave, now she was bound to her curse. But that gave her insight, wisdom. She knew that she could never be truly free, but she could turn her curse into power and place those beneath her into _her_ bondage, ensuring that even if she was not free… she would at least be comfortable. Her “allies” here did not understand that truth, and that made them vulnerable.

Take Winter Schnee for instance, who believed that her dominion of the mortal world proved her “greatness.” It proved _nothing,_ just that she had even more weaknesses to strike at. Disrupt her businesses, waylay her merchants, seize her investments… the money would dry up, and so would the blood, and with it, the power.

And the less said about that thieving _bitch_ Coco the better.

But right now, Blake was much more interested in Weiss than either of those two. Blake knew that Weiss had the power to, much like Blake, turn into a cat. She could smell it on her, and she knew the white cat (how artless her transformation was! Weiss, the spoilt princess, had no knowledge of how a true _animal_ moved) she was following from the shadows was the organizer of this Conclave.

Nothing added up. Winter’s “theory” that had so easily wowed that simpleton, Coco, was nothing more than an illogical mess. Pyrrha, obviously, wasn’t seeking to trap _anyone._ Not anyone human at least.

To be in Pyrrha’s presence was to be _bathed_ in the scent of blood. The woman must have swam in an ocean of it over her long lifetime, and one _particular_ note stood out to Blake’s precise senses. The same note that so much of this gaudy mansion had. The note of Roman Torchwick, only _this_ note was of the man exsanguinated.

That Pyrrha had killed Roman was of no doubt to Blake’s mind. Even if he was staked and ashed, it was merely a strategy pulled off with a human associate, perhaps a ghoul (though Pyrrha famously did not use humans like that, Blake was sure she wasn’t above an exception) to throw them off her trail.

Why she killed the Lord of Strasbourg, Blake didn’t know, no more than she knew what she convened a Conclave for. But she knew that the answer, in some way, lay with Weiss. And following her through the back alleys would surely lead her to what she was seeking.

When she reached a small inn, Weiss leapt up some boxes and windowsills to make her way to the rooftop, where she stealthily moved into a window. Blake would have smirked if she had lips. Weiss was careful, but like so many vampires, she was arrogant, thinking she was _too good_ to be followed, not having to look into the darkest shadows and-

A hand caught her by the neck and _slammed_ Blake into the cobblestones.

“What do we have here...”

Blake struggled vainly against the grip, but she knew there was only one predator that understood her role in this world better than Blake, better than anyone else in the world.

Pyrrha Nikos.

“You won’t get anything staying transformed. I’ve fought your kin enough times to see through a disguise _this_ feeble...”

Her panic was raw, her fear, total. Blake knew that she was beaten, and she realized that the woman who’d murdered the Lord of Strasbourg, had lured several of the greatest Vampire Lords of Europe to the scene of the crime, now had her in her clutches.

But a cornered animal always had some tricks to play. Playing possum wasn’t _really_ an option, but she could fake being “beaten” and wait for an opening. Pyrrha was strong, possibly the _strongest,_ but she wasn’t invincible. Even if she couldn’t be beaten in a fair fight, if Blake could escape and go to ground, she’d be a hard foe to track before she made it back to Milan.

And even Pyrrha wouldn’t fight her there.

Steadying herself, Blake allowed herself to go limp in her foe’s hands. Her pride _burned_ to be handled so roughly, but she knew that pride was only an impediment to survival.

Pyrrha leapt to the same window Weiss had gone in through, confirming that they were working in league with one another. And as she entered the room, Blake realized there was another. A human.

A Church official, Order of St. Longinus from his dress. But neither a cleric nor a Hunter. A clerk. But what made his presence even more strange was his scent: the man _reeked_ of sex. And not just the scent of his own semen was thick upon him, Blake’s inhuman senses could pick up that his… member had been soaked not in any _human_ fluids, but (and she nearly retched to picture it) the dark, vital fluids of a vampire.

She had thought, at first, that this man must _surely_ be a blood bound servant, but Blake could tell he had no ties upon him. Perhaps he was a traitor within his Order, but… but why would a vampire consent to have _sex_ with a human?

Was he the ringleader? Not possible—but then Pyrrha _bowed_ towards this man, and Blake’s heart dropped as she realized a human had somehow found a way to break their most potent champion to his will… and what that likely meant for her.

“I see you found a stray,” Weiss said teasingly, and Blake fought back an urge to _hiss_ at her.

She had to focus on Pyrrha. On her grip, and how it was holding her tightly. But tightly didn’t necessarily mean _correctly,_ and Pyrrha may have had experience holding vampires and werewolves and other _humanoids,_ but a housecat was one thing outside her (considerable) experience…

“I present to you Blake Belladonna, _Princeps_ of Milan,” Pyrrha said with a smug and formal tone, something Blake wasn’t sure she could have pictured from the normally reserved and secretive vampire before now.

Even more so with what came next.

“Very good, my pet,” the clerk said and Blake… Blake heard her _sigh._ With pleasure.

Who _was_ this man? And what power did he have over them?

...And what power might he soon have over Blake?

She could see him produce a… a collar, like a dog’s collar, a thick, leather thing, and Blake got the feeling that this wasn’t about mocking her feline form. Especially from the way Pyrrha’s grip seemed to _loosen_ as she saw it, her strength lessening as Blake spotted her chance.

Twisting and squirming, she suddenly resisted Pyrrha’s attempts to grip her, and her attempts to correct were overcorrections, underestimating how _flexible_ a cat could be. Slipping from Pyrrha’s grasp, she _sprang_ to the far end of the room, towards the window, all in the desperate hope she might-

She _yowled_ as she felt a hand around her tail, _yanking_ her backwards and snatching her back up. Hissing and spitting, Blake surrendered to her instincts, furiously struggling, unable to accept that she might be caught, that she might _lose!_

“I’ve got her, Master,” Weiss cooly said as Blake’s claws cut deep marks into her undead flesh, letting the black blood flow forth. Her claws were far more than a cat’s needles, but dangerous weapons that impaired even vampiric healing, but Weiss gave her pain, her injuries, no notice. And it drove Blake into a desperate… a desperate…

She felt the leather or her neck for only a moment. It took only a second between contact and the collar being closed around her and then… all fear vanished from Blake’s mind.

Inhaling deeply, Blake tasted the air of Strasbourg for what felt like the first time in _years._ Becoming a vampire had enhanced her senses well beyond that of a human’s, and they were even sharper in her feline form, but… what she was smelling, tasting, _feeling_ right now, she hadn’t experienced since before she was bitten.

How could she have forgotten how precious this was? The feeling of being _alive?_ Blake greedily drank in the feel of the cool night air on her skin, unconsciously morphing back into her human form just to feel it on her skin, her _real_ skin, something so precious and valuable to her. She could take many animal forms, with fur or thick fat or other means of resisting the cold, but none of them captured the _warmth_ of being alive…

And she realized, as the feeling began to fade, she had no power to _trap_ that heat as it slipped through her fingers.

Desperation set in, but only for a moment. Her animal instincts winked out in an instant as she realized the endless _futility_ of survival. She wasn’t a predator. She wasn't powerful. She was just… a dead body. That hadn’t been put to the rest. That had hundreds of years of _miserable_ existence clinging to her. The hopelessness was too much—she would have wept if she felt like it mattered—and her legs gave way as she crumpled to the floor.

But then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Touch. Contact. The _presence_ of a human being, the warmth of their compassion, it filled her with the memories of what she had felt only a moment before, that sense of being _alive._

“My, you _are_ beautiful,” he whispered into her ear and Blake felt like her heart might _beat_ again. He thought she was beautiful? She was pleasing to him? That was… that was… now Blake truly wanted to cry, because if he found _value_ in her worthless body, he might give her the attention she now _needed_ to survive.

His hand started to stroke his hair as he cooed to her, “Don’t worry… you can be a good kitty for me, can’t you?”

Blinking back tears, Blake realized exactly what he needed to hear. “Meowwwww,” she mewled, the sound of a pathetic, helpless kitten that needed a… needed her _Master_ to take care of her. He chuckled and continued to stroke- no, to _pet-_ her and Blake purred in happiness.

“You’ve done well,” Master mused to his other pets, “I think I’m really going to _enjoy_ fucking this one…” Blake swooned. Master would enjoy her? She praised God for her fortune. “Tell me, though, what was she like, as the _Princeps?_ From your perspective.”

“A bitch,” Weiss sneered, and Blake cringed. She would protest, but… Master wanted a kitty right now, and kitties didn’t talk. They were good pets who just purred for their Master as he pet them and hoped for treats!

“She believed herself to be smarter than other vampires,” Pyrrha added, “because she thought of herself as more in touch with the animalistic and beastial side of the curse.”

“Her?” Master asked, and Blake felt so wonderfully _safe_ under his touch, “This sweet little kitten? I’m _sure,”_ his voice was cruel, but Master wasn’t cruel. Master was Master, and Blake loved him more than anything, “she’s learned her lesson. Haven’t you, pet?”

She looked up into his eyes, desperate to _prove_ that she wasn’t a mean bitch anymore! “I- I- M-Master, please, I’m sorry! I’m s-so, _mraaaaow,_ sorry! Please!” she begged, “Fuh-forgive this stupid cat for-”

“Shhhhh,” he shushed her, and Blake felt a wave of perfect tranquility pass over her. “She’s an obedient one,” Master noted and Blake couldn’t help but rub against Master’s leg, filled with such contentment and bliss, “And I think the two of you have shown that you’re responsible enough to have a pet...”

Blake looked over to her Owners, her sister-slaves with delight. They had said such mean things about her, but Blake knew they had been right. She had been a bitch! An arrogant, stupid bitch, and it was only right that she should be a _pet_ now!

Her Owners came over to scratch her ears as well, and Blake was sure to purr from their attention. As they switched from petting her to stripping her clothes off, Blake could only _hope_ it was leading to what she thought it was… and then she felt Master’s hands on her and knew that it _was!_

Pushed face down, with her ass up in the air, Blake mewled as he plunged into her pussy, hoping that she could prove to be a useful pussy for him! His thrusts felt so amazing, each one a taste of _life_ that made Blake feel so purposeful, so _useful,_ like there was a reason for her to exist. She wept with joy as her fellow thralls kissed her, and when one presented a pussy for her to eat, Blake _dove_ in without hesitation.

The taste was _perfection,_ the smell of all their fluids mingling filled Blake’s nostrils with an intoxicating desire for _more._ She ate pussy and got fucked with an incredible eagerness, loving that she was Master’s pretty kitty, his fuck-pet, a lowly creature as far removed from the _Princeps_ of Milan she had once deluded herself into thinking she was!

Licking and kissing and bucking and purring, Blake was just a cat in heat, and she was so _grateful_ that Master was so kind as to give her a purpose, where before she was just dust and ash, delaying the inevitable with trivialities. She eagerly awaited Master’s cum, her pussy eagerly milking him. The muscles of her walls contracted tightly around his cock, gripping it, feeling it tense, and then…

He _came,_ and Blake _shrieked_ in delight, her fellow slaves quickly kissing and licking her all over as they struggled to be the first to get a taste. She could tell that Master enjoyed their impromptu orgy, and Blake didn’t hesitate to keep licking and sucking on tits and fingers and pussies as best she could as Master’s pets became a pile of feminine arousal.

When they’d finally exhausted their performance, Blake looked to Master with a happy smile on her face. “Meeeeeow,” she whined, cutely, licking the sweat and juices off her arm.

“Good kitten,” he said, and Blake purred in absolute contentment as leaned her head forward to receive more pets.

She was one of the damned, an unforgivable monster, but right now… Blake was in _heaven._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde for feedback on this chapter!
> 
> A point was raised about whether it should be the French Strasbourg or the German Straßburg. Strictly speaking, I'm siding with the one that doesn't require me to type ß, but it would be historically accurate to use the German spelling for the period—though, since Jaune's French and vampires are old, I could make an argument for "Strasbourg." Shout out to soldierofshadow for catching that error!
> 
> Also, I now have a Twitter feed @SeleneSokal, where I'm looking to centralize my updates over different platforms. Plus, I uploaded a screenshot teaser of what will probably be my next longform story :)


	3. The Queen of Couture

“Mrrraow,” Blake purred, enjoying Master’s hand scratching her ears.

To be allowed to pretend to be a cat was the highest honor Blake could imagine. She was, in truth, so much _lower_ than an animal, nothing more than a mindless beast, a monster that wore the shape of a beautiful woman. _Deceit_ was her very nature, but Master had straightened her out. Made her a good girl, just like she always should have been!

“Alright kitty,” Master said, giving her a playful swat on the behind, “Time to get ready for the Conclave.”

Getting back up on two legs (she would say reluctantly, but Blake knew to _never_ treat a direct order with reluctance) off Master’s lap, Blake gave him a respectful curtsy. She would be a good pet and play her role as needed. And she was _excited_ for their first target: that mouthy bitch, Coco Adel!

_She_ was the most deluded of their lot, and that was quite a feat! 

Stretching provocatively to give Master a good show as she dressed in her usual, understated attire, Blake gave a few teasing poses and pouts, then flounced out of the room and headed to the Conclave.

Running across the darkened rooftops of Strasbourg, Blake was struck by the sorrow she felt as she got further and further from the singular light that was left in her cursed life. She was a sorrowful creature, a fundamental and inescapable pain thudding dully in her breast, the cruel mockery of a heartbeat. She lamented her curse and the hopelessness of her entire situation, but those few glimmers of warmth and hope she felt in Master’s care… it was all Blake cared for. But the only way to _get_ that warmth was to be a good pet, and now it was time to demonstrate how _good_ she could be.

Entering the doors of the Great Hall, Blake carefully looked around the room. This was far more Weiss’s domain than hers, but Blake hadn’t become the _Princeps_ of Milan without knowing how to navigate politics. Indeed, many rivals had underestimated her animalistic side to mean that she couldn't slip through the underbrush of innuendo or stalk the edges of a meeting as ably as she could in nature. Many of those rivals were now little more than ash.

Blake knew she had the advantage here. Pyrrha was cold, distant, and above them all, Weiss was careful to give Blake no sign of recognition, but they were all united in a single cause. While the rest of them… that idiotic bitch from Paris was casually slouched in her chair, everything about her carefully chosen to convey her disdain at having to _work._ The Lady of Lucerne, looking as prim and proper as her biological sister (though, certainly not as enlightened), gave her no acknowledgement. And, finally… the Malachites.

That they couldn’t find a _better_ steward of a city as critical to vampiric interests as Bucharest had long been an annoyance to Blake. She wasn’t prone to nostalgia, but she knew that their control of Wallachia and Transylvania meant that there were untold _troves_ of ancient artifacts of untold power, and those two lunatics kept it under lock and key.

Right now, she could tell that the two twins—which one was Melanie and which one was Miltia was an irrelevant question from the way the curse had _melded_ their minds together—were fingering each other under the table. Not even bothering to hide their incestuous and inappropriate behavior, knowing that their power secured them from any consequences of their insanity… though Blake suspected they would behave the same way even if they _weren’t_ the Voivodes of Bucharest.

So the advantage was that, on Master’s side was an apex predator, a master diplomat and negotiator, and the mightiest vampire to walk the continent, and on the _other_ side was four women who were either addled, distrustful, or useless. Easy pickings…

The Conclave itself was a tedious bore, made all the worse as Blake fantasized about how Master would teach these uppity bitches their true place, leaving them begging for his mercy and forgiveness as they repented of their haughtiness. Particularly _Coco._ Oh, Blake couldn’t _wait_ to see Coco stripped of her finery and forced to lick Master’s spilled cum off the floor. That certainly would be a fitting punishment for the thieving bitch!

The meeting continued, so much noise and drama without any actual meaning to it. Oh sure, they had argued about some things and agreed to get other things, something about expanding Paris’s influence that Blake had strongly argued against and been mediated by Winter, but this was all so pointlessly tedious—none of the other members understood that it didn’t _matter_ if Paris gained influence or not, not when they were about to become the worshipful thralls of a truly great man. All this petty squabbling was just wasting time when they _could_ be on their knees!

Finally, they concluded for the day, having voted to grant Pyrrha necessary something or the other to hunt down the blah blah blah. Blake didn’t care. All Blake cared about was that Coco had her eyes on her, and Blake was thinking how _delicious_ she’d look with tears running down her face as she begged Master to let her suck his cock.

The Hall soon emptied, as planned. Weiss moved to speak to Winter, Pyrrha left without a word, and the Malachites _fucked off._ Leaving Coco and Blake alone.

Good.

“So...” Coco started, playfully, _“Velvet_ says hello...”

She was trying to get a rise out of her. But Coco didn’t know that Blake had discovered something fundamentally true about the both of them. Something that told her that Velvet was simply more precious, more valuable, than _either_ of the empty-headed _sluts_ who had fought over her. They didn't _deserve_ her, either of them. Alas that Velvet, such a lovely girl she was, couldn’t be a pretty pet for Master, but… no, he did not want them to be so monstrous. So _corrupt._ He was a good man, unlike the rotten _filth_ they were, the monsters he had to put up with to achieve his beautiful dream of a world free of vampires.

Knowing that she had a higher purpose here, it was easy for Blake to deflect Coco’s barbed words.

“That’s nice. Give her my regards as well.”

Coco was careful not to show her surprise, but Blake knew she was hiding it from human senses, not animal ones. And Blake could tell she was rattled. Her eyes had narrowed, her stance shifted almost imperceptibly. Blake knew her old personality, wrapped up in her false sense of ego, had a short temper. Their last encounter had ended with seven vampires brought to final death. Coco had anticipated another easy outburst.

“Alright then...” her face snapped to a cheerful smile, “You seemed interested in me in the Conclave—tell me, have I captured your heart like I did Velvet’s? Is it my new perfume that draws your gaze back to me? I’ve heard you have a _dog’s_ sense of smell, after all...”

But Blake just laughed at the attempt to get a rise out of her. “No, no, just… found something in the crypts that made me think of you...”

Coco laughed, a harsh bark that made Blake wonder which of them really _could_ turn into a dog, and then said, “Let me guess, it’ll be some sort of gaudy trinket? A petrified pile of cow shit? Please, you’re hardly an _artist_ of insults, so do get on with it.”

“No,” she replied, then produced the Collar, feeling it’s comforting presence in her hand, and placed it on the table. “I found _this._ An artifact, one I believe belonged to a vampire queen who had-”

“A _collar?”_ Coco asked, unable to hold back her incredulous, idiotic, and clueless laughter, “Well, I suppose I should thank you for saving me the time of having to come up with ways to insult you!”

But Blake just smiled as she put the Collar on, sighing in sincere contentment as she felt the serene echoes of warmth that came with it, the memories of her life before she was claimed, the feel of the cool alpine air, the smell of the navigli, or the sound of the Ticino River flowing past, an echo, but a precious one, of the things that had been forever lost to her when Adam claimed her as a vampire.

Opening her eyes, she saw that Coco couldn’t even manage to hide her jealousy. My, my, the sight of Blake having something that made her seem _happy_ was all it took to put Coco right to the brink of a total _rage,_ and effectively baiting the trap. Coco now couldn’t resist the allure of stealing it… and, of course, trying it on. It’d only be a moment before she received her _reward._

* * *

It would soon be morning, and a wild, animalistic instinct inside Weiss was telling her she _needed_ to return to safety, to her coffin, before the Sun’s rays could catch her, but what had once been an inescapable drive, even for a vampire as composed as her, was now easily driven out by a much more pressing emotion, one that _overwhelmed_ all other thoughts.

_Master was fucking her!_

Master had her bent over a table as he fucked her ass and Weiss was _rejoicing_ that he found her body satisfactory for his pleasure, and she _prayed_ he might consider her a worthy receptacle of his cum! She was very vocal in her enjoyment, moaning and gasping in whorish delight, _adoring_ the way her Master grunted and sighed as he ruthlessly took her ass.

Ooooh, she only wished that Pyrrha was here, to give her the _osculum infame_ after they were finished! Their Master was so wonderful to turn all their dark perversions towards a holy and righteous cause! It was almost enough to redeem them, and Weiss was forever grateful! And she would gladly, _joyfully_ serve her Master for as long as her endless existence permitted her to!

But even _gratitude_ became overwhelmed as she heard a _groan_ and felt him flood her bowels with his wonderful, creamy cum. Weiss’s eyes rolled up in her head as she shrieked in jubilant pleasure, knowing that she had done a good job.

Her legs were too weak to support herself, so she just slumped upon the table, feeling her Master’ gooey load leak out of her while she panted and giggled on the table. She really hoped Pyrrha would get back soon to slurp up Master's treat...

There was a knock at the door, and Weiss gave it a languid look. She knew the knock, knew that it meant their plan had been a success, but Weiss was simply too blissed out to feel anything more than the perfect contentment of having been _used._

Her Master got the door, and Blake curtsied, respectfully. From the way Master’s eyes widened, he seemed quite happy to see something, but Weiss couldn’t tell from this angle.

But as Blake entered, she was followed by the delicious sight of an utterly ashamed and _broken_ Coco Adel, the Queen of Couture herself wearing a _very_ fashionable Collar around her neck. The sight of the Collar made Weiss even more eager to pleasure her Master, and was _so_ excited that now Coco would join them in their rightful place, serving a wonderful, _human_ Master!

“She fell for it,” Blake told them, smugly, “I just had to leave the collar improperly concealed in my room, and _of course_ she couldn’t resist the urge to steal it.”

“I- I-” the trembling, once-superior vampire looked to her new Master with a reverent _awe,_ “I am _sorry,”_ she pleaded, “So, so sorry, that I never re-realized you were-”

“Your Master?” he asked.

“Forgive me!” she squealed as she fell to her hands and knees, and Weiss could see that the bitch was _sobbing_ like a child in her guilt and remorse. “I should have- should have _realized_ that-”

“Get up,” their Master commanded, and Coco did not hesitate to obey. Now that she had _tasted_ the momentary _bliss_ of their Master’s contact, Coco would never disobey, for fear that she might be cast back into the void, never to feel such warmth again. They had all learned that lesson, and Weiss marveled that Pyrrha could be so strong-willed—or so _stupid—_ as to attempt to disobey. Didn’t she realize that they were _nothing_ without their Master’s approval? They did not _deserve_ to exist, so vile they were, things could not live under the harsh glare of the brilliant, life-bringing Sun!

Coco seemed to take that lesson easily enough, and, sniffling and pathetic, she looked Master in the eye, desperate hope painted on her face.

“What do you think you are?” he asked her.

“Nuh-nothing,” Coco stammered in fear.

“Nothing?” he asked, and Weiss _adored_ the cruelty he was about to display. “The clothes you’re wearing are surely worth more francs than I’ve ever seen in my life. To think… dressed more extravagantly than your own _Master...”_

Coco’s eyes went wide in terror. She quickly reached for her dress, to tear it off, but Master stopped her with a raised hand. “Blake?” he said, “Could you help this slave be better attired for her Master.”

Stepping forward, Blake eagerly began to tear the expensive fabrics apart in her hands, shredding silk and popping stitches as she pulled what was once the height of Parisian fashion into shreds that hung loosely from her body. Not covering enough to preserve her _modesty_ of course…

Coco, as a vampire, was quite pale, but compared to Blake and Weiss’s unnaturally porcelain skin, she seemed to have a much darker complexion. She had large, full breasts, making Weiss lick her lips as she imagined how she could use _those_ to give a good show for her Master. And it was all topped off with an absolutely _miserable_ look that made her look all the more delicious as she stood there, stripped of her fineries and looking no more like the haughty tastemaker she once pretended to be, now looking like a _victim._ They were natural predators as vampires, and it was only _right_ that their Master re-asserted humanity’s rightful role above their soulless shells.

“P-please,” she whined, “please...”

“Please _what?_ ” he asked, archly,

Bowing her head, Coco squeaked, “Please let me serve you. I- I’ll be obedient, I p-promise! You won’t have any p-problems from me! I’ll do _anything_ you-”

Another raised hand silenced her pleading. Their Master looked over her, licking his lips. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” he asked, “I think you can _imagine_ a few ways I might enjoy seeing you serve...”

Falling back to her knees, Coco opened her mouth in obvious supplication, and Blake helped their Master slip out of his pants.

The sight of his cock gave Weiss the energy to right herself off the table and sit up, watching intently as Coco wrapped her soft lips around his member and gave him a worshipful blowjob. The utter and absolute _need_ to please him, whether with their bodies or their influence or their powers was the singular core of their beings now. Weiss could tell that Blake was feeling the same thing she was, basking in the knowledge that their recruitment of beautiful slaves for their Master had made them _purposeful_ where before they were useless. Master deserved to be surrounded by beautiful women... he was so worshipful, so _deserving..._

“You’re a talented cocksucker, aren’t you?” he asked, chuckling from the muffled, agreeable sounds the Princess of Paris made as she sucked him off. He ran his fingers through her chestnut hair, admiring the little splash of lighter color she had dyed into it. “Mmmmm, Blake, you’ve brought me a _lovely_ treat...”

“Thank you Master,” Blake purred, undressing herself as she ran her hands over her body, “I’m so glad that Coco’s mouth _finally_ has a use. Not like the girl had anything useful to _say...”_

“Oh?” their Master replied, then grunted as Coco evidently hit a very good spot as she downed his cock, “Mmmm, hot, fashionable, and dumb? Oh, I think I’m going to enjoy this one, my pet.”

Weiss thought for a moment to correct their Master, to let her know that Coco was actually a ruthlessly intelligent manipulator who had not only maintained her power base through the Terror and both of Napoleon’s reigns, but had, in fact, strengthened it with every turn, even as the Parisian power structure roiled and fell, but the thought of the woman who’d fought her way to the top of Paris’s underworld _and_ high society being reduced to a brainless, cocksucking bimbo? It _delighted_ Weiss to imagine it, and from the glazed look in Coco’s eyes, she was absorbing his instructions as her new Truth, just as surely as she understood how _worthless_ she was a vampire.

Their Master groaned—Coco was clearly a _very_ skilled cocksucker, just as her Master described—and Coco’s cheeks _bulged_ as she got a load of their Master’s delicious cum. Weiss could still feel the load dripping down her legs, and she admired her Master's impressive stamina! “Don’t swallow,” he ordered, and Coco was left struggling to hold it all in her mouth, a trickle of sticky cum tracing down her chin.

“Weiss, Blake?” he turned to them, “I want you both to get a share. Don’t want any of you thinking I’m playing favorites… oh, and no fighting over your share. Be good little sluts and don’t cause a problem that _I_ have to deal with.”

Weiss was on Coco in a flash, but Blake was quicker, giving the vampire a passionate kiss. As she withdrew from her former rival, smacking her lips and enjoying the taste, Weiss was briefly put out with how much she got… though she reminded himself that Master had told them not to fight each other, so she leaned in and tested how good Coco was at French kissing…

Quite good, it turned out, especially when her mouth was full of their Master’s delicious cum! Mmmm, Weiss was starting to think they received sustenance off of it—she still needed to drink blood, and their Master carefully selected who they were allowed to target (only those who willingly and freely consorted and made deals with vampires, particularly those who sold out the human race to supply vampires with blood), but Weiss had never before needed so _little_ blood, especially with how active they had been. But was it any wonder that their Master was simply _this_ incredible?

With a messy _gulp,_ Coco finally swallowed the last remnant of her load, then gave her Master a ditzy smile. “Like, uh, thanks for all the yummy cum, Master!” she giggled, “Your, like, super slutty vampire princess is so happy that you like fucking her like the whore she is!”

“Oh, you _are_ going to be fun,” her Master mused, “and it might be fun to have all of you take a page out of Coco’s book… but not until we’re finished here.” He looked to them, his mood turning serious. “We still have three vampires left to take, and they’re all extremely dangerous. The plan’s gone well so far, but I’m not so cocky to think that...” he noticed where their eyes all darted when he said “cock” and smiled. “Ha, you girls are _insatiable…_ and I never gave an order like that, so I suppose you just love being my personal sluts. But, I’m afraid I think I’ve done it enough for one night.”

“That’s a shame,” Pyrrha said, leaping in through the window, “I hate when I miss all the fun.”

She stepped forward and knelt before her Master, her head bowed respectfully.

“Ah, Pyrrha… what’s the word with Winter.”

“She continues to move against you expertly, and her plans would succeed… were she not so arrogant to assume that her sister could not possibly betray her.”

Weiss _thrilled_ to hear it. That she was being useful to her Master without even realizing it was the dream of any proper vampire. And to betray her very birth sister, her one connection to her life before vampirism, that surely proved the depths of her devotion!

“Weiss, Blake, take care of Coco and develop a plan to take the Malachites. Pyrrha?” he looked at her with a smirk, “You’re right, you did miss your chance to serve me with the others… so if you’d like to stay with me until sunrise, you can certainly sleep in my shipping trunk for the day.”

Weiss was delighted to receive an order, really, over the moon, but the pure _joy_ that Pyrrha was experiencing, sending the elder vampire into a swoon… that was the kind of reward Weiss could only hope she would one day receive!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde for feedback on this chapter!
> 
> Yes, valley girl speak is probably more than a little anachronistic, but I stand by my choices.


	4. At The Mercy of Madness

Coco giggled mindlessly as she fingered her cunt. Mmmmmm, she _liked_ that word. _Cunt._ So dirty and uncouth and fitting for a girl like herself. No, not a girl. A _thing._ A cunt on legs, that’s all she was, really. A brainless bitch who was lucky to have such a pretty cunt and titties so that her Master might find _some_ use for her.

Her clothing, once expensive and fashionable, were little more than tattered rags. She _savored_ the humiliation of it all, wondering if she should roll in the dirt to look more like the gutter trash she truly was. Oooh, maybe her her Master might enjoy having her wrestle Pyrrha or Blake in a muddy pit, being the stronger girl’s humiliated bitch, her naked body smeared with mud like the dirty little whore she was.

Oh! Or he could drench her in his cum! And not let her clean it off, leaving her a sticky mess until it dried, caked on her skin, letting everyone know that Coco Adel, the Princess of Paris, was absolutely nothing, a wretched slut that could only _pray_ that she might be worthy enough to please a man.

Weiss and Blake entered her room. She waved, and giggled as they smirked at her. They were so much _smarter_ than she was, such better thralls to their Master.

“Get up, slut,” Blake barked, and Coco quickly complied.

Weiss tossed some clothes on the floor in front of her. “Get dressed. We’re taking the Malachites for Master, and you’re going to help.”

Ecstatic _joy_ coursed through Coco at the sound of it. She could help? Oh, how _wonderful,_ what a joyous reward to receive, a chance to be _useful!_ She couldn’t thank her Master enough for his mercy!

Quickly getting dressed, she fussed with her clothing before the mirror until she had successfully restored her former look of fashionable excellence. It made her squirm to imagine her deceitful exterior concealing her true self. Hopefully, her Master would remind her later, tearing the clothes off her body as she begged his forgiveness for pretending to be anything more than a wet cunt for him to fuck!

Turning to her fellow thralls, she smiled. “So… what’s the plan?”

“Pyrrha is serving Master,” Blake replied, “so we don’t have her strength to bring to bear. So instead, we’ll be relying on you and Weiss to hypnotize them into submission so I can collar them.”

Coco nodded, looking to Weiss. She knew that Weiss had the power to Command, just as Coco could Fascinate her target with her gaze. And the two of them were some of the most powerful users of their art, so they should be able to pull it off, even if the Malachites were… something other than normal.

Venturing out, the three of them quickly crossed the city to find their prey. Weiss, Coco, and Blake all had their own form of spies, both human and animal, and between the three of them, it was no difficulty finding the abandoned cabaret the Malachites were staying in. They were something terribly frightening, though Coco wasn’t sure anyone had realized it yet how dangerous they truly were. Three vampires of considerable power, in completely different forms, but united behind a singular purpose—they were powerful in a way vampires rarely were. Jealous predators rarely cooperated, knowing that they could never truly _trust_ anyone who felt the same endless need and insecurity that came with vampiric powers. They coveted land and position and herds and anything else one of their peers might have.

But with their Master, they had realized how utterly _worthless_ all their desires were, and how their very existence was a gift from his mercy. Though they all strove to exceed each other, there was no jealousy—how could they imagine doing anything that would put their own, useless desires over their Master’s?

But there was one exception to the rule of vampiric hostility, and it was found with their current target. The Malachites were two vampires, twin sisters, who were claimed at the same time by their Sire. Whether through some ritual involved in their claiming or the trauma of experiencing the curse together or through some bizarre dark magic, the two of them were more like _one_ vampire in two bodies, capable of acting independently but in singular and total cooperation. A single vampire was an apex predator, and they were more than twice what they should be. But they were up against a force more united than even they were.

With Blake taking point, Coco and Weiss were able to stealthily follow her lead, disabling the Malachite’s motley crew of assorted failed entertainers and religious maniacs that they kept as their little coterie as they moved toward their sanctum. Mostly blood bound servitors—it was difficult, and dangerous, to travel with too many vampires in the retinue. Not a great idea to leave them behind, but Strasbourg was foreign territory that the Malachites did not control, and the freedom that came with that had a tendency to give underlings ideas.

It wasn’t hard to find them. They were, of course, on the main stage, and they didn’t hold court. The two were, also of course, engaged in a perverse and incestuous act, dressed as nuns and with the room set up in a parody of the Mass as they engaged in a sixty-nine. Before Coco had realized her own worthlessness, she had looked down on the Malachites. Now, she realized that there wasn’t any different between the both of them—soulless husks of women lucky enough to be pleasing to their Master. So now she found their behavior… while not _laudable,_ to be something that, at the least, could no longer offend her sensibilities. And she was hopeful that Master would find them _quite_ pleasing.

Unfortunately, they weren’t as distracted by their… performance as Coco would have liked. 

Scowling, they broke from their sapphic sin, turning to face the intruders. The Malachites were powerful, possessing strange and unknown magical knowledge and the secrets of the Blood that even made Coco unnerved. Still, they had a _task,_ and their sole purpose in existence was to carry it out.

“Sister,” one voice began, “We have _intruders_ in our sanctum.”

“We should have _expected_ such treachery… such _uncouthness_ in the animal bitch and the girls playing princess.”

“We knew they were trouble, didn’t we...”

“Three on two, Malachites,” Blake drawled, “You know you’re going down here. Might as well-”

Before she could finish, the two she-bitches raced forward at a speed that most vampires would struggle to keep up with. Not Coco, though. With a manic giggle, she was _excited_ to demonstrate that she was valuable to Master for more than just her pretty cunt, breaking the Malachite’s charge as they set upon Blake.

Normally, a straight brawl would be a bad situation to put herself in, but for once in her hellish unlife, Coco had absolute _certainty_ that her allies had her back. Blake and Weiss surged forward—Blake being more useful in a brawl, but the Dark Lady, like Coco, wasn’t a pushover. Besides, the fight wasn’t a _real_ battle, not in any true sense.

Coco chose one Malachite, Weiss the other, and when the signal was given… they unleashed their monstrous powers upon the most unstable mind in Europe.

The mind-meld ability of the Malachites made them a powerful force to contest against, but it left their shared mind vulnerable to two oppositional forces they couldn’t effectively defend against. Fascination could only be resisted by focusing and hardening the mind, the exact status that lead them to be vulnerable to Weiss’s Domination. And a mind focused inwardly on its own independence and freedom was easily snared in the hypnotic power of Coco’s eyes.

It was child’s play for Blake to creep up on the dazed and disoriented twins, dismay blooming in their helpless eyes, and slip the Collar upon one of them.

There were many unknowns when it came to the blessed Collar, but this was a big one. It wasn’t _known_ what would happen when one of the girls was exposed to the power of the Collar. None of them had a mind quite like the two girls before them. But they knew that there was nothing on Earth like the power that Blake held in her hands, and no vampire, no matter how strange, could _possibly_ resist what was now being looped around one of the Malachite’s neck.

Coco had never seen the effect from the outside. Merely _felt_ it, the reminder of the precious warmth of a soul and the realization of her own, inescapable hopelessness. As Blake looped the Collar around the neck of the Malachite that Coco was fighting, she saw as time seemed to freeze, the bitch's eyes igniting with a brightness, a _softness,_ that made Coco’s heart _break._ She felt tears come to her eye as she remembered her own lost humanity, reflected in the Malachite’s eyes.

But it was only for a moment before the spell broke, the light faded…

And both Malachites _screamed._

Coco’s crumpled to the floor, Weiss’s launched a furious assault that Weiss could _barely_ withstand, even as Blake joined her.

_“WHAT ARE YOU!”_ the mad witch screamed, _“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO US!”_

But Coco’s victim, ensnared by the Holy power, just stared up in silent, desperate horror. But while the recognition of the first stage of the Collar’s embrace had moved Coco to tears, this moved her to a savage, primal _joy,_ one befitting of her now-monstrous nature. This Malachite's shattered, broken mind had learned, as Coco had, the _irrecoverable depths_ of what they’d lost when their bodies died and their souls vacated their bodies. The desperate _need_ for purpose that Coco _knew_ could only be filled by a single man.

“The Master,” Coco whispered, “demands that you serve.”

A wild, deranged smile slowly formed across the Malachite’s face, stretching her lips beyond the range of any sensible smile, as her sister _screamed_ once again. But her screams awakened no sympathy in her now-Enlightened sister, who got up on unsteady legs… and then _struck._

Malachite against Malachite, the mad drive for freedom against the unstoppable, desperate _need_ to feel that warmth again. In truth, it was no question. The fear was as illusory as any vampiric power, just a shadowy mockery of true emotion, and the Malachite soon found out firsthand, just as they all had, though, perhaps, a bit more physically, that her _true_ desire was the salvation that came with their submission.

Her sister held her down, a wicked, predatory light in her eye. “We’re going to learn, sister,” she said with a monstrous giggle, “We’re going to learn to be good girls for the Master. Good, sexy girls just like we were always supposed to be!”

“L-let go of me you crazy bitch!” the other (Coco _thought_ it was Miltia, but it was hard to tell after so long which was with) cried in wild desperation, “G-get out of my- get out of my _head!”_

“But it feels so _gooooood,”_ she protested with a lascivious moan, “Sliding our mind into ours, making our brain all wet and squirmy as we think about Master fucking us… makes us _live our vision..._ betraying our allies… ashing every vampire in Bucharest… in Romania… in _Europe…_ burning the whole rotten institution that’s consumed our entire lives!”

“No- no!” she struggled in vain against the one force _perfectly_ matched against her, “I won’t give- I… I...” she ceased her struggle, her mind transfixed as she began to chant the word. “I… I… I...”

“She hasn’t used the first person in _decades,”_ Weiss chuckled, darkly. “I think it might have broken her.”

“It’s time to let your sister wear the collar,” Blake informed the Malachite, who preened as Blake took the collar off and then wrapped it around the other, still mumbling deliriously, Malachite’s neck.

There was no great struggle, no gasping realization of her own total _worthlessness_ and the desperation they had all felt at first. Because this wasn’t her first. She had just… briefly broken away from herself, and now the two had been brought back together to the same understanding.

The two of them gazed into each others’ eyes, but there was no spark of understanding, just a dull, glazed expression that, eventually, turned towards the three of them. At last, their faces cracked into sardonic grins.

“We… we finally...“ they gave a harsh, bitter laugh, “we finally get the joke...”

“We have work to do,” Weiss said in satisfaction as the Voivodes of Bucharest genuflected, respectfully. Coco knew she was to dress them for presentation for their Master's enjoyment, but she had to admit, they looked so _sexy_ with their tits spilling out of their ripped-up habits. Hmm... though, perhaps, her Master would find it disrespectful... she'd march herself right into the sunlight if she ever did anything to offend her Master!

Well, they were a pair of sexy twins with big boobies—Coco was sure she could find _something_ to do with them!

* * *

Victory was almost at hand.

And, frankly, it couldn’t come soon enough.

Jaune wouldn't hesitate to admit that he _wasn’t_ a fan of living the nocturnal life. Personally, he was really starting to _miss_ the sunlight on his skin, but he had to, like his vampire thralls, rest at day. Not because he _needed_ to evade the sun, but because right now, he needed to be _absolutely_ alert in the nighttime, lest one of the most dangerous predators of Europe were to ambush him and utterly _ruin_ his plans. Even more so, it was because daylight meant he didn’t have his bodyguards. True, he could instruct Weiss or Coco to assign him human bodyguards, and they would find _excellent_ protectors for him, but Jaune couldn’t _trust_ humans, even those under vampiric control, the way he could trust the loyalty of his thralls. It was difficult to even _participate_ in trust when, like with Pyrrha here beneath his desk, worshipfully running her tongue up and down his shaft in rapt adoration, he had women who lived for his beck and call. He knew she wanted him to fuck her, but she was a good girl now, and knew that she existed for _his_ pleasure…

That thought drew Jaune back to the letter he was writing. Writing, but likely not sending. How many times had he started this same letter only to realize he wasn’t doing it _right_ and had to be thrown into the trash?

He was on the very _cusp_ of turning the tide in the war on the vampiric menace that the Order of St. Longinus was _founded_ to root out! Once the Conclave was turned, he’d have the perfect army to launch a lightning strike against vampires all across Europe, purging their _rot_ from the world and liberating humanity! And yet…

And yet he was trying to explain in his letter that she would be proud of him, that she would see that, even though Jaune hadn’t qualified to be a Vampire Hunter, he was still doing his part, _proving_ to her that he…

That he _what?_ What was he trying to prove here? That if she found out about what he was _doing_ with his thralls that she _shouldn’t_ be disgusted with him? That his accomplishment's balanced out... they weren't even human! Why did he feel guilty about this?

It was one thing that he allowed them still to feed—only on the worst of humanity, those who sold out their fellow men to vampires for their own gain!—but Jaune knew that he could easily just order Pyrrha and Weiss to go about carrying out the plan without… without feeling his vampire slave’s tongue wrap lasciviously around his cock, eagerly begging him for his cum.

Angry at himself, Jaune gripped Pyrrha’s blood-red hair in his hands and began to _shove_ her down on his cock, facefucking her relentlessly. Yes, she didn’t need to breathe, but she still _gagged_ for him, because Jaune had _ordered_ the bitch to be his fuckslave and toy and that meant when he wanted to take his _anger_ out on her worthless body, she _showed him_ that he was! It was _wrong_ of him, but _fuck it,_ he _deserved_ this!

“God above, you thought you were so-fucking-powerful!” Jaune barked at the vampire, dizzy from his attention as she struggled to manage his cock, “But you’re just a stupid, cock-hungry slut, aren’t you? You fucking bitch!”

She looked up at him, bloody tears smearing down her face as she choked on his cock, but her eyes were just… _dazzling._ Full of love and adoration, the kind that made Jaune feel guilty about what he was saying… until he remembered that _he was in charge._ He didn’t have to _care_ what she thought, she existed only for _his_ sake.

He _yanked_ her head off his cock and her mouth hung open, desperate for more of his dick but trained well enough to only beg if instructed to.

“I’m coming on your fucking tits you dirty slut!”

With a delighted smile, she cupped her chest with her hands, pressing them together as she smiled up to him. “Oh, thank you, _thank you,_ Master! Please, cum on my tittites and bless my body with your seed! It would be a far greater gift than my ugly and ruined soul could ever deserve!”

Her eager debasement was enough to push Jaune over the edge as he spurted on his slave’s tits, marking even her pale white skin with pearly gobs of his semen.

Jaune coughed, another side effect of this accursed sunless life was that he always felt a little weak, a little more drained… though looking at Pyrrha eagerly sweep up gobs of his cum from her tits into her mouth, Jaune could guess that there might be _another_ reason he felt so drained.

But his good mood soured as he looked back to the unfinished letter. What would she think to see him, using a woman, even a vampire, as his sex slave? She wouldn’t… no, he just had to… once he had changed the world for the better, nothing else would matter. A little proclivity, a minor temptation— _nobody_ could hold it against him when measured against the uncountable thousands of lives he would save.

He crumpled the paper into a ball and cast it aside, grabbing a fresh sheet and starting over again.

_Inquisitor Valkyrie, I hope this letter finds you in good health! I have-_

No, this was still all wrong! Again!

_Nora, it’s Jaune. I know you told me that I didn’t have to impress you for you to-_

No! No, all _wrong!_

Furiously, Jaune was about to sweep the desk clear when he heard a knock at his door. A particular knock, the kind that lifted him out of even _this_ mood.

“Get the door, slut,” he growled at Pyrrha, but his voice had a playful edge this time, “And keep your tits out like a good girl.”

Pyrrha beamed to receive the order from him. She beamed to receive _anything_ from him—there wasn’t a thing he could do that Pyrrha wouldn’t _love_ him for it. No moral failure, no weakness, there was nothing she would ever _judge_ him for.

_If only there were more women like you._

But, well, wasn’t that about to be the case? As Pyrrha got the door, Coco and Weiss proudly entered with the quarry—the shell-shocked and broken Malachite twins.

They were beautiful, weren’t they? And twins… their matching lingerie, blood red and virginal white, made a very fetching contrast. From his thralls’ descriptions of these sluts, Jaune had been quite eager to get to enjoy them. Oh, of course, he had a higher calling for turning them—they were, after all, the overseers of _Transylvania itself,_ a massive victory for the order—but would anyone _really_ object if Jaune took the chance to _enjoy_ himself a little? He’d earned this, even if… even if _some_ of his peers wouldn’t understand it.

Unlike his other slaves though, these did not throw themselves to the floor weeping tears of blood at the sight of his glorious person, but instead, they looked at him with a sort of religious _awe._

It was intoxicating. After struggling with his sense of shame and insecurity, to see these parasitic sluts look at him like he was beyond judgment… yes, he could get used to this.

“Tell me,” he said to the starstruck girls, “what do you see when you look at me?”

The girls stared at him, before answering in unison. “E-everything. M-Master. W-we see… _everything.”_

He laughed. “Kneel, sluts,” he commanded, and they obeyed. “What do you desire?”

“O-only to fulfill your desires, M-Master.”

He smirked. They were strange ones, even for vampires. One mind in two bodies… though Jaune wondered if he couldn’t _play_ with that a bit…

“You,” he pointed at the girl in red, “what is your name?”

The girl looked up at him in confused dismay. “We- we are the Malachites, Master, there is no-”

“Tell me which one _you_ are.”

He could see her struggle against the order, her and her sister, their mind taxed, but unable to disobey. “Mil-Miltiades!” she gasped, “I- I am Miltiades!”

Feeling a wicked smirk creep up his face at the exquisite pain the Malachites were clearly in, Jaune _thrilled_ at the extent of his power. Weiss and Coco seemed impressed… well, Weiss did, Coco was clearly looking at Jaune’s cock, the bimbo only a half step away from openly _drooling_ on herself. Ah, well, he’d had his fun, and after cumming on Pyrrha's chest, Jaune felt like he’d gone enough rounds for one night. The sun would be up soon enough, and he was starting to tire.

“You,” he said to one of the Malachites, “eat Weiss’s pussy. And you,” he barked at the other, “thank Coco for teaching you your _place!”_

All four vampires eagerly thanked Jaune as Weiss reclined on the bed with her legs spread while Coco was pinned against the wall by the eager vampire, once the inheritor of the great Wallachian legacy, now little more than his personal sex pet. Stroking Pyrrha’s hair as her hand pumped up and down at his cock, already rehardening at the sight of the vampire sisters making his other slaves moan like whores, even as another _cough_ interrupted him, Jaune had to think: this was his reward. He was turning bloodsucking monsters, inhuman predators into his loyal and obedient thralls. He was turning vampirism against itself to free all of Europe! He was doing a good and righteous thing here!

So… he _should_ enjoy himself a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde for feedback on this chapter!
> 
> We're seeing the power start to get to Jaune in this chapter, and you can see the trajectory this might follow. We also get a bit more about Jaune's backstory, and some implications about how he got to be here.


	5. Reign

Weiss smiled as the moon, pristine and white, seemed to smile down upon her. She felt, for as broken and horrible as she was, like she was _truly_ blessed, for the first time since she was cursed to this monstrous existence.

She had the collar wrapped around her neck, placed there lovingly by her slave-sister Pyrrha, dearest of all Master’s vampires, his first claimed and mightiest slave. Pyrrha had left a trail of kisses down her shoulders as Weiss proudly bore their Master’s glorious and blessed tool of enslavement around her neck.

Really, it was the only thing she ever desired to wear, but she knew her desires were meaningless trash, particularly where her Master was concerned. But Coco knew, the last thing her brain was _capable_ of knowing, how to dress a woman for her lover, and she’d dressed Weiss in elegant white lingerie.

Weiss loved how _deceitful_ it was, the half cups of her bra presenting her pale breasts for her Master’s inspection, her hair done in an exquisite ponytail, gently sloping down her back, the lace and garter so elaborate, it was almost like she was _worth_ something, rather than being a depraved abomination. It was so white and pristine that Weiss felt like a bride presented to her husband, when really, she was just a lowly slave, gutter trash that her Master had _blessed_ with his mercy.

She bowed, respectfully, before her Master, not raising her head until he ordered her to rise and get on the bed: face down, ass up.

It was her favorite position—that was to say, one she’d been _ordered_ to take. With words of praise and submission, she prostrated herself for her Master.

He wasted no time. Her outfit _certainly_ didn’t come with panties, and with her glistening pussy (Pyrrha had made sure that Weiss was _well_ prepared, not that she wouldn’t be soaked by the promise of serving her perfect Master) presented to him, Master plowed her little slut pussy with his _big, hard, cock!_

Weiss gasped in ecstasy. He was so wonderful, so amazing! She deserved _nothing,_ and yet, he graced her, _regularly,_ with a taste of pure perfection. Oh, he was so far above vampires, above all her kindred, but he was also better than other mortals, better than any other person who Weiss had _ever_ known. He deserved everything! He deserved every woman he desired to serve him as _worshipfully_ as Weiss did! He deserved _Europe!_

The thought of her Master, surrounded by a court of vampiric brides, all those chosen for having bodies pleasing enough to the Master to bring him pleasure gave Weiss a dirty thrill. He would rule the world in secret, the most powerful women in the world serving him, tending to his every whim! Just as they should be! The girls of the Conclave, Pyrrha, Ruby— _fuck, Ruby!—_ every single one that appealed to him! And more! Weiss could bring any number of girls under her spell, Coco could turn them into horny, drooling fucktoys, vampire or human or whatever her Master desired! They would crush all opposition and turn the _world entire_ into his kingdom!

But right now, Weiss knew that what Master desired was her ass, his hand _spanking_ her gleefully as she squealed in delight! He mocked her and degraded her and Weiss was all too eager to join in! Yes, she _was_ a whore! Yes, she _would_ debase herself for his pleasure! It was all she could ever imagine herself wanting ever again!

But then, Master’s hips _tensed_ as he gave his _final_ command to Weiss! “You are going to betray your own _sister_ to me,” he snarled.

Weiss felt the exquisite joy of knowing she was a good slave _rush_ through her body, making her whole _self_ tingle with the memories of her soul. Her Master’s command electrified her body and told her that she had _purpose,_ a reason for existence that gave her perfect, total happiness.

“It would be my _dearest_ pleasure,” she purred, and she meant it, knowing that the _rush_ of perfect cum she was about to receive was only the first taste of how truly gone she was.

* * *

Winter looked at herself in the mirror.

Well, looked _past_ herself. She, of course, did not appear in the mirror. But this gaze, this reminder of her true existence, was an important ritual for the Lady of Lucerne. She was a beautiful woman, she had heard enough times, but she knew that it was only an illusion. Everything about her was illusion, everything about the _world_ was illusion. There was nothing that was truly “real” to be found around her, and the mirror was a reminder of this.

The mirror told her she did not exist, but proclaimed that the rest of the room was as real as her eyes could tell her. But Winter knew that she _thought,_ that she had cognition, and, therefore, she knew she existed, making the mirror a _liar._ And if the mirror was lying about her own existence, it was easy to see that it was lying about everything else.

Looking into the mirror was a reminder to Winter that she knew that she was the only thing in all reality that she could truly confirm existed. It was the most important lesson in the world, and spending so much time seeing her sister made it easy to forget that all of her peers, even Weiss, were nought but shadows. Following them would lead her to nothing.

But her meditation would have to be brought to an end. The time had come for the Conclave to reconvene. It had been… productive, if she was being charitable. Within the expectations Winter had for such a meeting. It wasn’t _useless,_ and she was confident that their agreements about the divisions of Strasbourg would prove to be helpful in averting an open war between Weiss and Adel, likely with Belladonna finding a way to make herself involved in some way as well, but the nominal _reason_ for their meeting hadn’t made any progress. Not just in the stated reason, to use their combined might to obliterate the Order of St. Longinus outpost in the city (not that Pyrrha Nikos should have had _any_ difficulty with the task, once its location was discerned), but the unstated nominal reason, using this Conclave to draw out the assassin who’d decapitated the leadership of Strasbourg in the first place.

They had more time, of course, but Winter had been certain that _one_ of them would have been targeted by now… but, perhaps, the human had grown timid with so much power in one place? Perhaps he thought to skip town before they caught him… though Winter had to smirk at the thought. A Vampire Hunter on the lam would be easy prey for her agents to track. But no, she was confident that a vampire as powerful as Pyrrha Nikos wouldn’t resort to such a simple trap without being confident it was the strategy that would work.

But onto another night of tedious debate about feeding rights and siring rights that Winter knew was far beneath their standing, but would no doubt ignite all of their eristic furor.

Stepping into the hall, though, she felt a change in the air. Something… something was different. Was it that she was the last to arrive? No, it was something… else.

A warning. An instinct within her telling her that she needed to _run,_ and that she needed to do it now.

She quieted that instinct.

As a vampire, she had a fight-or-flight instinct far more potent than any human’s, which, combined with her considerable experience in reading social cues with superhuman senses, meant she was _primed_ to react to shifts in power with dramatic overreaction. She had to keep her cool, to not give up her advantage here. Someone had made an alliance, she was sure of that, and one more ambitious than she was inclined to expect. But Winter had seen this before: ambitious alliances only led to spectacular collapses. They were vampires. Trust was against what they fundamentally _were._

Pyrrha rose and, with a raise of her hand, proclaimed, “I call the Conclave of Strasbourg to order!”

All nodded in recognition. A Conclave was an ancient institution, and that meant that every meeting started with a fair degree of ceremony that-

“I move to address a matter of special importance.”

Or not. Coco Adel’s interruption surprised Winter. Few cared about the more pointless points of decorum than she did, but it revealed to Winter the truth of the matter. It seems Adel was the one she was to worry about, the alliance that-

“I second Paris’s motion.”

 _Belladonna?_ She was allied with _Belladonna?_ That was worrying. Winter had felt secure in their animosity, but that had, evidently, been a ruse. Still, it was no matter. The two of them had _no idea_ how many contingencies-

“We would also like to add a second to Paris’s motion.”

The Malachites? Now Winter almost had to _laugh._ Belladonna and Adel uniting against her was a concern for how unexpected it was, but _this_ alliance was an obvious disaster. It’d be child’s play to turn them all against one-

“I would also like to join in the motion.”

…

No.

Not… possible…

They _all_ were in- _Weiss_ was in-

All eyes were on Winter and her instincts _screamed_ at her to flee, to _escape,_ but she was frozen, paralyzed by her inability to understand what was happening here. She looked from conspirator to conspirator, a _fury_ building in her breast as she realized that she had missed that she had stumbled into a _trap._

She had deluded herself, had believed that there was anything other than herself in the world, and that _folly_ had cost her dearly. But she would not go down without a fight.

“The Conclave recognizes the motion for special business,” Nikos blithely replied.

Adel stood up, still looking at Winter, who made no attempt to disguise her _fury_ at this betrayal, her mind already calculating how she could make them _pay_ for their treachery, even if it killed her.

“We would like to add a final member to the Conclave...”

Rose? A hitman? Building to some inscrutable joke about her corpse? Winter felt a _snarl_ grow in her throat as her hands clenched into fists.

“The new Lord of Strasbourg… and all vampires. Our Master, Jaune Arc.”

“Hail!” every voice, including _Pyrrha’s_ echoed.

Winter was stunned. She hadn’t… she hadn’t anticipated anything like this.

A man strode forward from behind Pyrrha, who stepped away from her chair and genuflected to him, reverently. He cradled the Dragon of Thebes’s head in his hands, and gave her… a kiss that made the potent vampire sigh with pleasure as he took his seat, the rest of the Conclave sitting down after him.

There was no contingency for this. No anticipation. Had the world finally broken? Had all of reality collapsed into a meaningless slurry before her? This wasn’t prepared for, wasn’t accounted for, by _her,_ she never- she didn’t- It wasn’t- wasn’t-

_THIS WASN’T POSSIBLE!_

The man began to speak, but his words were _nothing,_ he was nothing! Winter was- she was- she was the only one that was real! She was in control!

Unable to contain her rage any longer, Winter began to bare her teeth and hiss, but it became little more than a choked, gurgling noise, strangled in her throat as her body struggled to respond to the _intensity_ of her rage, fear, shame, and humiliation. Unable to handle that she had been so outwitted, humiliated by _all_ her peers, caught off guard by a _human,_ betrayed by Weiss, who she HAD PROTECTED THOUGH THE DARK TIMES-

Winter collapsed, attempting to stand on boneless legs. Falling to the floor, she twitched and sputtered, a total nervous breakdown as she snarled mindlessly at the vampires that now encircled her. They weren’t- they were her _lessers,_ they weren’t even _real!_ Only she could- only- only- only…

It was like there was a _click_ in her mind, and suddenly Winter Schnee, the Lady of Lucerne, the secret ruler of all of Switzerland, simply shut down. Her bonfire of rage had sucked up all the oxygen and suffocated itself, and without that, humiliation _crushed_ her ego, to be so disordered, to be _unmade_ in front of her peers. Her eyes were open, but there was nothing behind them.

“Pathetic,” she heard a voice say, and it was true. Infinitely true, a truth that _swallowed_ her whole and drowned her in her new reality.

“No, not pathetic,” another voice, a voice she… recognized rebutted, “She discovered what we needed our Master’s blessing to understand. She is _nothing,_ a broken shell of a long dead woman. We should all have been so wise.”

Footsteps. Winter would have looked up if anything, even her reflexes, were responding to her commands, but it was all futile. She had lost. She was already in her final death, and she felt something wrap around her neck and with a click-

Winter exhaled, a sudden _flood_ of memories _pulsing_ through her, memories of a life long forgotten. Before the Franks invaded, living with her mother and father and sister in their manor house. The feeling of life and warmth and _love,_ even if father was cold and mother was distant, she had her sister, her beloved little sister, to protect. To play with. To reassure that all would be well. As unhappy as she was, she had so many moments of light and joy just written in her sister’s smile, and then…

She remembered the army, the Carolingians. The chaos, the disruption, the _need_ to keep her sister safe by any means. The man. The bite. The blood. The endless coldness that she mistook for power. And then… giving her sister that same curse. The two of them turning on her Sire, the two of them… parting. Conquering. Trying to fill the endless void with a river of blood.

She was nothing. Winter Schnee had died with the Frankish invasion, and now she was just an echo of a girl. An echo that deserved nothing but her release. She gazed up at a man with a familiar warmth, the warmth she once felt from her little sister’s smile, but she knew… that warmth was not for her. She did not deserve him. She was a worthless thing that couldn’t even beg for mercy properly. Having desires was not for her. She’d only _ruin_ them like every other pursuit she’d had in her miserable, accursed walking death.

“Command me,” she croaked, committing the last act of her wretched, stupid will, “Use me however you see fit.”

“Wow,” her Master said with a soft laugh, “This one’s _really_ broken… Let me test this. Winter, I found Pyrrha’s chair to be uncomfortable; you have no objections to being furniture, right?”

“I have no objections, Master,” she said as she got up on her hands and knees. It was not just a reply to his question, but a statement about her entire self. Winter no longer had objections. She was furniture because she was told to be furniture. Whatever she was, it was what she was told to be.

She felt his weight sink into her back. “Ah… that is comfortable… Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind taking your seats, I do believe we still have some matters to discuss. First off, the matter of the vampire who did not attend after the summons concerns me...”

There was discussion, but Winter was silent. She had not been told to speak, she had not been told to think. She had been told to be furniture. And that was all she was. Not a ruler, not a vampire, not even a chair: she was what she was told to be, and absolutely _nothing_ more than that.

* * *

She was tending to her Master’s needs, massaging his shoulders as he fucked the cow that once was her sister. Winter's tongue lolled as she mindlessly took his dick, the only words out of her mouth was the occasional _moo,_ just like the cattle she’d been instructed to become.

It was ironic. Weiss had long thought of _humans_ as the cattle that she and her sister preyed on, but the truth was that _they_ were even beneath cattle. Just worthless bodies animated by monstrous appetites, and their Master would have been right and just to simply order them all to ash themselves. But their duty was to carry out their Master’s orders, and Weiss could only hope to be as good a thrall as her sister was, completely shutting off any _thoughts_ of resistance—because she hardly had any thoughts at all anymore!

“Mmmm...” their Master sighed, “Weiss, once I’m finished with this cow, would you enjoy licking my cum out of her snatch as I fuck your ass?”

“Of- of course, Master!” Weiss eagerly agreed. Getting fucked in the pussy after sunset and fucked in the ass before sunrise? What vampire slut could _possibly_ turn such a wonderful offer down, even if she had the _ability_ to refuse?

“And you don’t even mind that I’m ordering to eat out your sister?”

“Not at all!” Weiss insisted, “If Master would enjoy our incestuous display of our total depravity, I’d be even _happier_ to fuck my sister for you!”

He laughed, and Weiss felt a surge of pleasure course through her entire body. Pyrrha was right now wearing the Collar, being Master’s favorite, but Weiss felt almost as delighted from her Master’s approval as if she _was_ wearing the blessed Collar at the moment.

With a grunt, he finished in his cow’s pussy, who just moaned stupidly. Weiss helped push her into place as she just lay there, the dumb cow lacking any will to do anything without a direct order instructing her, and she raised her butt up, wiggling it for her Master’s amusement as she started to lick his cum up, feeling the way the taste of his fluids invigorated her body almost as much as blood could.

“Mmmmm, yeah,” he sighed in contentment, watching her, “I’m getting hard again just watching you two… Make her _cum,_ Weiss, make your slutty cow of a sister cum on her little sister’s face.”

An _order!_ Oh heavens, Weiss was in _bliss_ as she set to carrying his order out with a devoted zeal. Licking, sucking, and tonguing her cow-sister’s clit, she was rewarded with lusty moans that told her she was doing a good job. Feeling her Master’s cock slap her butt told her that she was doing _exactly_ what she should be doing, and Weiss struggled not to cum just from her Master’s silent praise.

“Well,” he said, lining up his cock with her puckered asshole, “I’d like to kill two birds with one stone, so pay attention while I’m fucking you—and don’t slow down on your sister, can you do that, slut?”

“Mmmmffff,” she moaned into her cow’s cunt, telling him that he’d carry out her orders to the _letter._ Then she _squealed_ as he plunged into her, fucking her tight asshole and bringing Weiss over the edge. Still, he told her to pay attention, and she would _not allow_ her orgasm to distract her!

“Your friend, Ruby Rose… I have a plan to deal with her and wipe out her entire nest of vampires that have kept London in a stranglehold...”

Weiss listened attentively to the plan, awed at her Master’s decisive leadership as much as his masterful cock stretching out her anus as she was brought to another orgasm alongside her sister. This was the perfect moment for her—the depravity of her mindless, incestuous fucking mixed with the righteousness of their holy mission… Weiss was both having her brains fucked out until she would be enlightened like her sister, while also having her Master’s instructions poured into her as an empty vessel! She was incapable of true joy or happiness, but this filled her with the knowledge that she was a good slave, and doing _exactly_ what she should be doing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde for feedback on this chapter!
> 
> With the Conclave defeated, now seems like a good stopping point to put the story on a brief hiatus. Turns out, in the writing process, I started having more ideas than I originally planned on, and so the next "act" of the story's being retooled. But don't worry, I happen to have another long-form fic that's starting to come together, and next week, I hope to have the first chapter of "For The Cause" up. It features Blake scheming how the White Fang can turn a certain blond bunny's unstoppable powers of seduction into a weapon for Faunus rights.


	6. Movement In The Shadows

Ruby really didn't like France.

It was territory she considered within her control, but still, it wasn't London. She was in Calais, sitting in a well-appointed meeting room attached to a dockside warehouse owned by one of her fronts and prepared by unwitting laborers who had no idea they were helping a vampire, the Reaper of London herself, meet with a deadly assassin who would thwart humanity’s newest, best hope of freeing themselves from the shackles of vampiric tyranny.

The obliviousness of humans as they ignorantly carried out her orders, never knowing that they were often building the very scaffolds on which they themselves would hang, never ceased to amuse her. The world was ruled from London, the center of an Empire that spanned the globe… and Ruby ruled London. Ruled it through means both subtle and spectacular, but, really, humans, those industrious experts in cruelty and domination, did most of the work _for_ her. 

And Ruby found that _hilarious._

But it was not the time for amusement, she reminded herself, as two women entered the room, one, blonde and audacious, casually sauntering in like she owned the place, the other, dark haired and much more reserved.

“So I heard you’ve been murdering prostitutes...” the first said, with mock dryness.

Ruby scoffed. “Jack? You think _I’m_ Jack? Please, Yang, I’m not some gloryhound who feels the need to make a _production_ of everything.”

“Ah...” she smirked, “But is _Crescent_ a-”

“Don’t speak to me about Crescent,” Ruby growled, forceful enough to even shut Yang up. “But… on to business, then?”

Yang nodded. So did her companion. Ruby hadn’t known about _this_ one, but knowing her sisters… _proclivities..._

“Ah, yes,” Yang said, noting Ruby’s expression, “This is Ren, my associate. She’s worked with me before, and she’s strong enough to handle what I normally dealt with back in Beijing, so she’s strong enough for whatever your little problem in France is. Something about cheese, I presume? Or is it wine?”

Ruby rolled her eyes, not taking the bait. “A few months ago, I received notice from Weiss Schnee that there was to be a Conclave—it’s our term for a gathering of vampiric leadership—to be headed by Pyrrha Nikos.”

Yang’s eyes went wide at that, no smart remark or comeback there. Even on the other side of the world, people knew who the Dragon of Thebes was. Hard not to get a reputation after being the woman to kill Genghis Khan. But Yang kept her mouth shut, careful not to reveal anything. For as much a loudmouth as her “sister” could be, Ruby knew she wasn’t as careless with her words as she came off.

“Fortunately,” Ruby smirked, “I smelled a trap and, after signaling I would attend, I carefully-”

“You got lost along the way and missed the whole thing,” Yang breezily interrupted.

For someone without blood, Ruby still felt her cheeks grow warm as she, somehow, blushed. “That’s- that’s not what happened!” she protested.

Yang’s answer dripped with _infuriating_ sarcasm. “Of course not. Please, though, continue.”

Ruby _hmphed,_ but continued. “Whatever happened, after the Conclave, vampires all across the continent have been going dark, and it always starts in the cities whose leadership attended the Conclave. Paris, Milan, Zurich, Salzburg, hell, according to my spies, there’s no active vampires in all of _Transylvania,_ and from what I can find, it was spreading outward from Bucharest.”

“So you think the Conclave was really about creating an alliance to take control of Europe entirely.” Ren deduced.

“Eh… I don’t think so...” Yang cut in, “Through Rubes here, I’ve gotten to know a bit more about vampires in the West, and they’re not exactly like us. They don’t work together… ever.”

Ruby nodded. “The Conclave was called to deal with a matter with a Church office, the Order of St. Longinus, dedicated to hunting vampires. I have people in them, but... there was something, recently, that even I can't get a word on. I think the Church found something. Something big and terrifying.” She paused, dramatically. “They’re subverting vampires. Vampires who know our networks, our weaknesses, and using them to wipe out everything we have on the continent. Only a matter of time before they make a go at England, and after that… they’re not going to stop with Europe. _But,_ so far, all they have are European kindred. They know how we operate, and they’re expecting me to hit them with more of the same.”

“But Jiangshi...” Yang trailed off.

“They wouldn’t know what to expect,” Ruby finished the thought.

Ren chimed in, blankly. “The Church’s own Eurocentrism proves their downfall...”

Ruby wasn’t sure she _liked_ the creepy, emotionless girl that Yang had with her. But Yang was strong as _hell,_ so if she considered Ren to be strong enough to partner with her, Ruby could trust that she was capable of finishing off whatever was targeting the vampires of Europe.

“But...” Yang gave her a cocky grin, “We’ve gotta talk _payment,_ little sis.”

“Not willing to do it _pro bono_ for your kid sister?” she asked in mock wounded pride, “Alright, alright, I know what you want.”

“Father’s watch.”

Yang didn’t wait for Ruby to try to say it herself, but Ruby just raised her hands in a peaceable gesture.

“Yes, yes, I know, I know… but before I cut any deal with it, I want you to acknowledge that it was my _mother’s_ watch before-”

“I won’t acknowledge _anything,”_ Yang spat, “You know why I want it and if you want my help you _will_ pay my price.”

Ruby glared at Yang, the two of them locking eyes as they searched the other for some sign of weakness. Finally, Ruby relented. 

“Very well,” she said with a shrug, “Return with the right head and I’ll hand over the watch.”

They shook hands and, with that, the two women left Ruby in an empty room. Exactly how she _preferred_ it.

She knew that the watch would be the price of this deal from before she even contacted Yang. The two of them had fought over their Sire’s watch ever since a lucky Vampire Hunter ashed him in Mauritius. They knew it had a connection to a treasure that the Rose family had long protected, something of great and ancient power, but Ruby had not been able to figure out _how._ She didn’t think Yang would fare much better, but she didn’t like handing over the watch.

But finishing off this new threat from the Order of St. Longinus took priority. Besides, Ruby rationalized to herself, she could always steal it back. After all, that’s how she got it in the first place.

* * *

“Your sister does not seem like the trustworthy sort,” Ren told her as they returned to their ship.

“Eh, when it comes to the watch… there’s honor there, even if she’s, well, completely nuts.”

Ren took her words in silence as they approached the _Demeter._ It was a useful vessel, with a captain bound to Yang’s will, a crew that had been slowly indoctrinated by Ren, and a name that had an appropriate amount of Vampiric history for Yang’s taste. Couldn’t exactly go traveling around on a ship with a name like the _Honorable_ or anything like that. Had to have _standards._

But they would be leaving the _Demeter_ behind after tonight. They’d reached France, and it felt good to get out of the ship’s cramped quarters and enjoy the open space of rural France, in such contrast with crowded Beijing, but the sun would be up soon, and they weren’t willing to chance spending the day anywhere but someplace they trusted.

“Your… sister,” Ren asked, cautiously, as they slipped back onto the boat, “How can you share a sire while you’re a Jiangshi and she’s… a Western vampire? How is that possible.”

Yang shrugged. “I don’t exactly know the _how,_ here, but I know the watch has a clue to it. Something to do with Ruby’s mother, something important about her and her bloodline. So when she got turned, there was a ritual involved, something strange and potent, and when it ended… Ruby’s what she is now. Why he did it, what he got out of it, all that stuff: no idea. But I’m hoping that getting the watch back will help me track down the Trove, and then we can answer all those questions.”

“And recover the Mask of Kuroyuri.”

“And that, of course,” Yang added with a chuckle. “And then we can figure out whatever the hell it actually is.”

She stretched her arms. They were starting to get stiff, and that meant she was overdue for some blood. Fortunately, they didn’t really _need_ any of the crew currently aboard the _Demeter,_ not now that they were leaving for a while, and she could snack as much as she needed. Yang figured traveling across France would cost plenty of blood—hard for two Chinese women to blend in in the French countryside without using some of their powers, harder still to do it if their joints were so stiff and locked up, all they could do was hop forward.

Ren disliked the name “Chinese hopping vampires,” but Yang found it hilarious. Of course, Westerners could only understand Jiangshi as a degenerate form of their own, local monsters, but Yang knew they were _far_ from being weaker than the blood-and-status crazed lunatics that her sister called Kindred.

No, they were Jiangshi! Apex predators not only of the physical and supernatural worlds, but also the spiritual. They were as strong as their Western cousins, but they were capable of cooperation and thinking of a bigger picture than their own satiation. And Yang and Ren were paramount among their kin.

Trained in esoteric and secret arts in China, Nepal, India, Korea, Vietnam, all over the continent, they had studied both martial and mystical arts for a century to unlock the secrets of their bloodline. It was why Yang was so consumed by finding the Mask of Kuroyuri—her Sire had discovered _something_ about it that would unlock the _full_ potential of her blood, and it involved the silver-eyed women of the Rose family in _some_ way. Ren was also interested in the Mask, being descended from the clan that _created_ the Mask in the first place, and that had become the basis of their partnership. Well, that and _other_ reasons...

This threat that Ruby saw might be prepared to pick away at isolated European vampires, turning their own paranoid backstabbing against them, but they were something else, something the Order of St. Longinus was not prepared for. 

Ah, but that was business, and business could wait until later. They had more important things to take care of on the ship. Ren beckoned a sailor to follow them into their quarters deep in the hold. The man had long been so overwhelmed by Ren’s herbalism and incenses, not to mention their hypnotic gazes—plus, to be real here, these were sailors and they were _hot women—_ that Ren merely had to crook her finger at him and he followed them into their lair. Whatever contempt Yang had for vampires, humans were still quite a score more hapless than they were.

Once they were deep in the darkest part of the hold, the women set upon him, Yang kissing and teasing the poor man before she pressed his face into her generous cleavage. Ren, though, was more businesslike—she went for the throat and began to drink. The man gasped, but quickly fell into a trance as their bite sapped his essence as much as his vital fluids. Yang began to drink her fill as well. One man shared between two vampires—she didn’t envy him when he woke up! But they were in port, so he’d be able to just sleep it off. Or not, Yang didn’t particularly _care_ what happened to their victims. If he lived, he was lucky, especially now that the crew weren’t needed to be kept alive.

Her hunger sated and her lips wet with blood, Yang decided to feed a _different_ appetite, turning towards her companion and kissing her, enjoying the taste of the sailor’s blood on her lover’s lips. This was something the Jiangshi had that those pathetic blood-cursed Westerners could never understand.

Ren was _delicious,_ her slender frame contrasting nicely with Yang’s curvier features, but Yang also enjoyed how she could take charge of the woman when it came to their desires. Ren moaned as Yang pushed her down to the floor of the hold, knowing that the dirty metal floor was the _perfect_ place to take her pristine princess.

“You love this,” Yang murmured to her companion, hearing her mewl with desire as Yang began to strip her clothes off.

She had taught her little sister the value of taking a vampire as a lover, a way of creating a tie between them that Western vampires struggled to understand. Ruby’s adorable little white haired girl was an excellent choice—she clearly had no control of the tender parts of her heart, as dead and black as it was—and that gave Ruby _power_ over the girl, like Yang had power over Ren.

Yes, Yang was bound to Ren, too, but Ren knew that she was Yang’s pet. Whimpering for her reward, she soon received it as Yang pressed a plump tit right into Ren’s mouth, letting her suckle as Yang slipped a finger into her pussy, frigging her as her hips bucked against Yang’s palm. She rubbed her lover’s clit with her palm as her fingers explored her pussy, and Yang savored the feeling of Ren’s lips wrapped hungrily around her nipple, practically seeking the sustenance she could only gain by blood.

They might be undead creatures, but there was still... sensation. But with it came _more._ Intimacy, connection, _lust,_ the things that gave Yang the real thrill of existence. Unlike vampires, who merely clung onto a world they did not belong in, Yang and Ren _thrived,_ pursuing their desires. Even if their hearts no longer beat, they still had feelings as intense as any living woman.

Something confirmed as Ren released her hold on Yang’s jugs as she mightily climaxed, forced to cry out and let the nipple slip out of her grasp. The look on her face, all twisted up in pleasure, such a change from the normally austere Ren… such a pleasure to see it.

Yang spread her legs. Ren knew what to do.

Enjoying her pet’s attention, Yang clenched her thighs together, another sign of her dominance over the quieter woman. Yes, she really did care for Ren, she felt the reciprocal _pull_ of the bond between them, but Yang also cared for _control._ They were Jiangshi—it was in their nature to dominate, and they did so even in love. As her pussy _twitched_ and Yang felt the wave of her orgasm approaching, she knew she was getting off on the _power_ of the moment as much as her lover’s tongue!

With a primal cry of delight, Yang's pussy erupted with orgasmic pleasure. Ren, dear girl that she was, eagerly lapped at Yang's font, her face smeared with the dark juices that marked her forever as Yang's own chosen. She felt a profound sense of fondness for her partner, even through the blissful haze. The two of them had explored so much together, and they had only been bound deeper and deeper together as they discovered each other as much as the arcane secrets they pursued.

Nestling in the hold together, cuddling each other as they succumbed to daysleep, Yang felt very comfortable. She was one of the most powerful beings alive, and she _relished_ the position it put her in. Physical pleasure, freedom, authority, and, soon, she’d have access to a relic that promised tremendous power. All she had to do was remind some Western vampires and a stuffy church that the world was bigger than Europe. And she'd get to spend some good time with Ren along the way!

Oh yes, Yang was excited for this task. She’d heard about Pyrrha Nikos before, and Yang was looking forward to testing her might against the legend, even if she’d been weakened enough to be enthralled by human sorcery. This was going to a fun trip, _and_ she was getting paid for it!

Her only regret was that day would soon be breaking, because Yang wanted to hurry to Strasbourg and get to the fight!

* * *

They weren’t like anything else in the world. A body and a mind were ineluctably connected— _thought_ was a function of the physical organ of the brain, but also that of the rest of the body. They had experimented enough to discover how cognition was more than an animating soul puppeting a flesh-body. It was dependent on a collection of chemicals, electrical signals, and even stranger things that made the Mind what it was. Even vampires, dead bodies animated by the Blood had more to their _selves_ than a mind-body dualism. Some of their experiments had been done on kin, after all, as distasteful as others might find it. The answers had been enlightening.

But none of that enlightenment was close to what the Master had revealed to them. From Him they had learned _firsthand_ the simple truth that there is no _soul_ to be found in a vampire. And that truth had given them a lodestone to work from, a way to advance their understanding. Even if their formal research had been halted in pursuit of greater truths. It had given them a grounding, and from there… they had all the time in the world to find more answers.

Right now, their findings were still limited in scope. No matter how much they learned, they were still the Malachites, something _unnatural_ amongst the unnatural. One mind across two bodies, somehow separate and united. They felt what they felt, even if one body was a hundred miles away. They suspected if one of their bodies reached final death, they would still feel the cold _ash_ that once was their flesh.

Well, they supposed that Winter Schnee was also somewhat like them, having _zero_ minds in one body now, the arrogant slut reduced to whatever amusement Master desired of her. What an exceptional servant she was, taking to this role much better than her old one, in the Malachites' opinion. She was still a fully-functional plaything, both in the bedroom and in her former use, able to write letters in her old, haughty style to lure her former allies into traps or to ensure that Master’s crusade was well-financed.

It delighted them that they were showering their Master in well-deserved riches. _They_ had known, before any of their sister-thralls how petty and worthless such trinkets were for the Damned. But Master… Master _deserved_ the finest things.

After all, He was God.

It’d be quite the joke when the rest of the thralls caught on to this simple truth, but the Holy Collar had made the Malachites realize that there _was_ a God, a _ne plus ultra_ that they discovered the utter _depths_ of their depraved _worthlessness,_ the both of them and their wretched, fused existence, by measuring against. But then… then they had _seen,_ they had seen the power and the glory! They had beheld the light and grace and power of their perfect Master! And if the pleasure He visibly took in their bodies hadn’t been enough, His cock had certainly made a convert out of them. He was the _sine qua non_ of reality, and they, alongside all the world, were His Sovereign right.

As He fucked them, each cunt proclaiming its bottomless desire to serve as He filled them in bliss, stacking them atop each other like cordwood and alternating which of their holes He blessed, they knew that they were rewarded by _divine_ revelation of their own utter _depravity…_ and their Master’s divine perfection.

A divinity they were not lax to praise and adore, in _every_ way their Master demanded.

Right now, they were grinding on their own face, savoring the sensation of eating their own dirty cunt, feeling _twice_ the satisfaction of knowing that Master enjoyed their slutty, incestuous display. Pleasure for knowing He appreciated how they dommed theirself, pleasure for knowing He appreciated their humiliating debasement at their own hands!

“What a dirty slut we are!” they proclaimed, “Eating our own pussy like a lezzie whore!”

They continued to feast on their own delicious juices, made all the tastier for how _sinful_ their behavior was. It was so _wrong_ to feast on one’s own _sister’s_ gash, but they were depraved monsters of the night, creatures who _reveled_ in their wickedness, for it gave their Master pleasure!

Grinding their pussy against their mouth, they wondered if they might tempt Master out of bed to join them in their wantonness. Master, alas, couldn’t fuck them like their wretched cunts _deserved._ He had come down with an illness that required that He rest, an illness that had, unfortunately, slowed their plans to conquer more of the shadow world of vampirism. It was, of course, a test, not a serious illness, a question of their faith, and one they knew to not be found wanting in, so they performed as eagerly as their Master needed for his joy and contentment. Master liked vampires who knew their place as worthless refuse and He liked vampires who knew that their bodies existed for his pleasure. They gleefully took up the role, just like all of Master’s other thralls.

They were Enlightened by his wisdom, but soon, they would have others sharing in the Enlightenment. Sisters, they expected, all beautiful, but it was God’s right to choose who He desired to receive His blessing. They knelt before Him, four pairs of eyes focused in worshipful devotion, as they chanted prayers to their Savior.

_Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde for feedback on this chapter!
> 
> I can't remember who suggested a fic with Ren and Yang as Jiangshi, but it happened as I was working on the first chapter of this story as a one shot. But I liked the idea of a wider vampiric Europe RWBY, and so this idea set off the whole rest of the story.


	7. The Jiangshi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Sadism and violence

Two Chinese women passing through rural France was a strange sight, but only if they were _seen._ And Mulan Ren did not _allow_ a step out of place, not once she had found her prey.

She was a woman of utmost discipline and precision. People who knew her, as few as they were, thought her to be an emotionless creature, either a remorseless machine or an animalistic killer, but she knew she was something more than anyone understood.

Anyone other than Yang, at least.

Love was a powerful force, something Ren understood very well. Western vampires were incapable of feeling such things, so they dismissed it as pointless nonsense, as they did to anything they, in their imperialist arrogance, did not understand, but Ren knew that her true power did not come from her discipline, her strength, even her esoteric and arcane knowledge. No, it came from love. She loved Yang, she loved her so dearly that she’d sacrifice herself without question for her beloved’s sake.

Why else would she follow her through France, facing off against some great and unknown threat, possibly even against the Nikos herself, all so that Yang could further her pursuit into an arcane mystery? Many would suspect she had an angle here, a strategy. That she must be looking for an opportunity to seize the Mask. That her quiet demeanor belied a cold and calculating mind that would betray her comrade the moment she had a chance. But they didn’t understand the truth that was staring them in the face.

Ren was here because she loved Yang. She wanted her to succeed because of love, and because she knew Yang loved her in return. That was all there was.

“Shame we can’t really _enjoy_ France while we’re here,” Yang said with a sigh. “But, you know, once we get the watch from my sister, we could stay around here while we study it. Enjoy the countryside, make it a holiday.”

Ren gave her lover a faint smile. “I suppose we could… but I don’t know what you would find so appealing about this land? You surely cannot mean to enjoy the wine or cuisine?”

Yang flashed a roguish grin, the kind that made the Blood in Ren flutter to see it. “I was thinking, we could enjoy the countryside, find some local _belles_ to share… surely, sharing a dainty French maiden could be fun...”

Tousling her lover’s hair playfully, Ren gave her a quick kiss. “I hate to be the sensible one, but… I don’t know if it would be wise to remain so deep within your sister’s reach when we have something she _wants.”_

“Ha, true enough, true enough, but… I think you’ll find that it’s hard to find a point that’s _out_ of my sister’s reach. She’s well-connected and… tenacious.” Yang’s tone had grown serious. She didn’t talk much of her “family,” other than noting that her Sire had been a great and dangerous man, and that the less said about her mother, the better. Her circumstances with Ruby Rose were deeply unusual, but… they were the animated bodies of dead women. Unusual was relative. “But I suspect that she’ll give us some time to make our own assessment of the watch. But on other business… what are your thoughts on our target?”

Ren shifted nervously. What she knew of the Dragon made her… wary. Myth and rumor were amplified by hysteria and time, but… there was truth in the uncertainty. She was dangerous. Dangerous in a deep and fundamental way that, though she would never confess this to anyone, triggered a fear within her. She looked to Yang, and spoke, “We will get one chance. We need to make the most of it. Even the slightest error...”

She left the meaning hang. But while her warning was dire, in Yang’s eyes, such threats were just more incentive for her. Something to _test_ her strength against. Ren suspected that the watch, while a formal incentive, wasn’t the sole reason she’d agreed to take her sister’s contract. And Ren could see where she was coming from. It was one of the things that made her love her audacious companion—she saw all the world as a challenge, and one she always rose to.

They were on a long and lonesome stretch of road through the French countryside. Illuminated in the moonlight, Ren could see the endless stretches of fields and vineyards they were passing through. A coach, or horses, might make this trip faster, but they wanted to be discrete, and beside… a romantic moonlight stroll through the countryside was quite nice.

“I wonder...” she said, her voice and the flow of a nearby river the only sound in the midnight dark, “What sort of power the humans must have found that gave them such power over vampires?”

Yang shrugged. “Nothing I’ve ever heard of. But whatever it is, they’ve gotta do things clandestine, gotta keep it secret, so it’s not something that works on someone going head-on. Gives us the edge here.”

“Whatever it is must be powerful, to bind one such as Pyrrha Nikos.”

“That’s true...” Yang said with a contemplative nod. Ren was fascinated by the strange mysteries of the world, ever since she was a little girl in her village, hidden deep in the forest, to keep an artifact of strange and unknown power safe. She longed to breach decorum, to try to _understand_ the thing her entire community devoted their lives to protecting. What they had _died_ to safeguard. The gift of immortality came to her by her inability to let go of that fascination; her soul could not move on until she could find out those answers.

Her undying search for knowledge had led her to many strange places, and while Western sorcery wasn’t her best field, Ren knew that it was unlikely that any of their mages might be powerful enough to bind the mightiest vampires of Europe. It had to be an artifact. A potent one, perhaps even as powerful as the Mask she was searching for.

But her thoughts were interrupted as Yang’s hand stopped her. It only took a moment more for her own finely-attuned senses to pick up what her partner had sensed.

There was power in the air. A great power. And looking down the way, Ren could see the source.

They were finally upon the river. The path led to a bridge. But standing on the other side of a bridge was a red-haired woman. Pale and confident, it wasn’t hard to guess who it might be.

“I am Pyrrha Nikos,” the redheaded woman confirmed, “I believe you are my Master’s enemy.”

Yang cracked a smirk. “Well, you’ve got one thing right, don’tcha?”

She readied herself into her fighting stance, but Ren hesitated. The power… Ren could still _feel_ it, the kind of power that made the air _thick_ with its oppressive force. It was the sort of manipulation of the inherent monstrosity that animated their undead forms, but Western vampires… surely, they didn’t know how to manipulate their tainted chi like this! Ren’s efforts to manipulate the energy, to turn it towards her own magic fizzled as a dark wind picked up, chilling Ren to the bone with the unnatural sensation of _fear._

Even Yang suddenly seemed to lose confidence as the Grecian Vampire strode forward, a sudden _flash_ of lightning across what was previously clear night sky illuminated her pale features, luminous green eyes, and blood red lips cracked in an imperious smirk. 

What- what _was_ this creature?

* * *

Stroking Master’s hair gently, Blake whimpered as Coco spoon fed him some soup.

He had come down with an illness, something Blake had never had to concern herself with as a vampire, but now… now it was the most oppressively significant thing in her world. He was weak and feverish, and though he was doing well so far, being awake and alert, just tired, she couldn’t help but fret for what might happen if things got worse!

No. No, she wasn’t to think like that. Blake looked to Coco, the silly bimbo smearing her tits with broth for Master to lick up, a blank, happy smile on her face. And she thought of Winter, who had no thoughts at all in her head besides what Master told her to think. She was a model of what a vampiric thrall should be for their Master. Weiss and Pyrrha were the ones who handled decision making; Blake’s role was to be Master’s pet, a pretty kitty to purr and attend to his needs, whatever they may be.

Her ears prickled, hearing footsteps leading to the room. She was alert to any danger that might come for their Master, and the thought of some misguided vampire attempting to commit such _sacrilege_ filled Blake with a passionate _fury._ But she knew the steady pace she was hearing—it was Pyrrha. Which put Blake at ease—both to know that the mightiest of them all would be here, and that Master’s favorite would surely know how to lift his spirits!

The door opened, and Pyrrha revealed herself, two bodies on her shoulders, but barely even a burden with her tremendous strength. She genuflected upon entering, and Blake was happy to see that Master’s eyes seemed to widen appreciatively as she came in.

She flung two girls to the floor—Chinese, from the looks of them. The dark haired one wore the blessed Collar looped around her neck, but the blonde seemed to have also been enlightened by it as well. They cringed on the floor, knowing that they did not _deserve_ the pure and serene bliss that came from looking upon Master, but being far too weak willed to summon the willpower to turn their unworthy eyes away from him.

It was a _need_ that Blake knew perfectly well. It was the rightful state of being for parasites like them. Pathetic sluts who had only begun to learn their place.

Though… Blake could tell that these weren’t regular vampires.

“Jiangshi,” Pyrrha explained, tersely, “Vampires from China. Assassins, sent to hurt you, Master.”

Blake felt a furious _roar_ of fury build within her, though she knew her anger would agitate Master. Still, she glared at the wretched harlots who had _dared_ such a thing. Yes, she had once been on the same senseless path, but she was only as furious at them as she was at herself, and what a wretched creature she had been. The Jiangshi _writhed_ under her glare, though, which gave Blake some small trace of satisfaction. Served those whores right.

“How’d you beat ‘em?” Coco asked, and Blake looked in envy at her tits, still glistening with Master’s saliva.

Pyrrha tried to conceal her pride, an emotion only she was allowed to have as Master’s favorite, as she explained. “I slew Arslan Altan, first of their blood, when I met her along the Ganges in the days of Alexander. She was a worthy foe, but would be _disappointed_ in what her descendants consider strength today.”

“We… we are not _worthy_ of your mercy, oh great Master!” the dark haired Jiangshi suddenly proclaimed. “We were weak and foolish girls who knew not their proper place! We cannot ask that you forgive our transgression or spare our miserable existences, but I know many arts of healing! Allow me to treat you as I can, so that my worthless self might have some value for you!”

Master looked at the dark haired one through bleary eyes. Blake knew not to have an opinion about matters that were to his judgment alone, but, secretly, she hoped he would take her offer. The fear that dug deep into their bodies at the thought of failing their Master, of _losing_ him, threatened to tear what was left of her mind apart. She dearly worried for his health, particularly the danger a disease posed, something none of them, not even Pyrrha, could truly combat.

And… the girl _was_ beautiful. Her delicate features and porcelain skin made her seem quite desirable, and Blake hoped that her body beneath her green, foreign dress would make a nice pairing with her own. Two dark haired beauties who desired nothing more than for Master to enjoy the contrast of their pale skin and raven tresses… she hoped he would enjoy them!

But he needed to heal, first. To get better, to become stronger, and then he could _enjoy_ the fruits of his munificence in allowing them to serve him. It was Blake’s dearest wish that he could be healthy to enjoy his kitty, and all of Europe as they gifted it to his worthiness.

Master nodded. “I would… accept your service, in this regard.”

“Oh, _thank_ you, Master, for treating such an unworthy girl with kindness! I will set to making you a healing tea right away, my lord Master!”

Scurrying out of sight, Blake’s eyes now turned towards the blonde, who seemed to be unwilling to risk hoping that she might receive the same mercy.

“P-please, Master,” the blonde begged, prostrating herself on her hands and knees. “I d-deserve nothing but death, not f-for what I have done, but for what I _am._ I beg you,” she looked up, bloody tears streaming from her eyes, “let my _suffering_ entertain you, beat my monstrous, wicked body, hit me, _hurt me,_ and let my pain grant you some entertainment!”

Master paused a little, then gave a harsh laugh, which quickly became a cough. “I like her,” he wheezed, and the blonde wept with open abandon, “Pyrrha… have her _flogged.”_

“Th-thank you, Master,” the blonde wept as Pyrrha roughly pulled her to her feet and tied her wrists apart, her back facing them. She _ripped_ the dress off of her, exposing her back, which caused Coco to pout.

“Aww,” she whined, “I wanted to see her boobies! I bet they’re _really_ bouncy!”

“Patience, my pet,” Master said with a rough laugh, “We’ll have time enough to enjoy every part of her...”

Blake licked her lips. She hadn’t been freed from her predatory hungers, even as Master kept them leashed and controlled. And this girl, and the promise of her _suffering,_ spoke to those dark desires.

Pyrrha produced a wicked looking flog, a lash with many strands that would be perfect for Master’s righteous punishment. A flog normally had no danger to a vampire, who’d simply heal the injuries as soon as they were delivered, but Pyrrha was a mistress of violence, and she’d turn this bitch into a proper painslut in no time at all.

Raising it in her hand, Pyrrha suddenly _struck,_ making the blonde harlot gasp in surprise from the first strike. But she paused only a second before the next came down, causing her victim to cry out. But it wasn’t a _scream,_ not yet, and Blake was eager to hear her _scream._

Another strike, leaving a long series of parallel marks cut deep into her back as the Jiangshi braced herself against the pain, but Pyrrha was just warming up. Another, then another, and soon the woman was barely hanging on, _teasing_ Blake with her inevitable _break!_

Lashing again and again, leaving a black crisscross across her back, the unnatural blood of a vampire _oozing_ out as the bitch finally screamed in pain.

“Th-thank you, Master! A-AHHHHH, THANK YOU!” she cried out, and Blake _shivered_ in perverse delight.

She could see the moisture running down her leg, her pussy getting soaked by the knowledge that her suffering was pleasing to Master. Blake felt the same. It was an _electric_ feeling, pure and raw and flooding her with an incredible desire to see Pyrrha do _more_ to this unworthy whore. She would surely be Master’s painslut by the time Pyrrha was finished with her, all physical injury converted into ecstatic joy and sexual arousal. She was babbling her gratitude and praise for Master, loving every blow, her skin healing, knitting back together just in time for Pyrrha to bring down another kiss from the flogger.

But Blake knew her duties were greater than to just attend to her own whorish desires. She guided Master’s hand to her breasts, where she _meowed_ as he gave her an appreciative squeeze. Earning pets from Master were the only thing that truly mattered to Blake anymore, and she showered him in reverent kisses, though careful not to distract from the show the foreign whore was giving them.

Blake licked her lips in appreciation. The sight of blood excited her, as it always had, but the sight of a once-powerful woman rightfully submitting to Master, being _punished_ for her willful disobedience got her _hot._ Feeling Master’s hands stroke and pet her, reminding her of her place as she watched another thrall learn hers was the finest pleasure Blake could imagine. Well, just about the finest... She moaned as Master’s hand became rougher, the sight of the Jiangshi’s pain and humiliation _exciting_ him and delighting her in turn. Pyrrha’s blows became faster, more vicious, more erotic as she performed a _task_ for Master’s amusement. 

A glance revealed what Blake had been hoping to see. Master’s erection, an unquestionable sign of his _pleasure_ at the sight of this foolish Chinese slut’s agony, stood proudly, visibly tenting beneath his blanket. Blake’s essence fluttered at the sight! It told her that Master enjoyed seeing the harlot’s suffering, seeing her transformed from masterful assassin to desperate painslut, just as Blake did. It meant _everything_ to Blake that she was enjoying what Master enjoyed, what she _ought_ to enjoy, and the two of them delighted together in Pyrrha’s display of cruelty, Master’s hands groping Blake’s tits and making her _purr._

By the end, the wretch was exhausted and broken, as much from cumming her brains out as from the beating she received from Pyrrha. She babbled incoherent thanksgiving to Master for his mercy as Pyrrha released her from her bonds, promising, as they all had, to make the most of the unworthy existence she had been granted.

Blake knew she would. And she would get started right now. She stepped forward, a treacherous part of her inside her mind whining at the loss of Master’s touch, but Blake knew that she was an obedient, well-trained pet, and that meant putting Master’s needs _first._ And part of that was making sure the new girl knew her place.

Roughly seizing the Jiangshi by the hair, Blake _yanked_ her to her feet and hauled her over to Master’s bed. Whatever Blake had in place of a heart _soared_ with pride as Master looked the beaten slut over appreciatively. He deserved to have her, humiliated and beaten, taught her _place_ for daring to imagine herself somehow _better_ than his worshipfulness. Her _Master._ Coco giggled absentmindedly, pointing out how the new girl's bountiful chest bounced and wobbled as Blake grabbed the girl and shoved her face towards Master’s erection, testing to see if she was smart enough to see what she was to do now.

Looking up with bloody tears in her eyes, the slut gave Master a look of desperate gratitude as Blake pulled away the blanket and revealed that which they all desired. His cock exposed, the _proof_ of their continuing, if desperately meager, worth, Blake couldn’t help but _drool._ But she knew Master would desire the new slut to tend to him, and Blake was a good pet. Obedient. It was not her place to decide who would be blessed with Master’s cock.

Still, she couldn’t help but whimper as she watched Yang worship Master for the first time, her lips gently wrapping around his head. It was hard to tamp down her jealousy, knowing that _this_ slut was the one being blessed by Master’s attention. _She_ could have been the one to pleasure him, if this stupid slut hadn’t intervened. And she was sucking him off _so_ well, taking his shaft all the way down her throat without hesitation, her fingers gently tickling his balls, clearly earning Master’s favor. She didn’t _deserve_ it—none of them did, of course—but Blake couldn’t avoid feeling a terrible jealousy swell within her.

But then she felt Pyrrha’s presence behind her. Blake turned, fearful, worried that her impertinence in presuming her right to Master’s cock had earned her disfavor for her… _disobedience._ But while the thought of that dread word made her fearful, Pyrrha’s face betrayed no judgment. Instead, she had a wicked smile as she presented Blake with… the lash. Dearly grateful for her slave-sister’s aid, Blake smiled as she took the flogger in her own hands. As Yang desperately choked on Master’s cock, Blake glared at her, the jealousy inside her growing to an inferno of wrath as she raised the flot high above her head.

“This!” she cried, “Is for thinking you had _any_ value other than your tits!”

She brought down the lash, re-opening lines of dark blood where Pyrrha’s marks were already healing. Yang struggled to maintain her blowjob, knowing that her only value came from her worthless mouth’s ability to please Master. Blake felt a wicked surge of desire open within her at the sight of the blood, her predatory instincts telling her that this was _right,_ and what Master deserved!

“And this is for attempting to _hurt_ your Master!”

Another lash, another gasp from the stupid whore. Blake’s lashings grew faster and faster, viciously denouncing the blonde for her stupidity, her arrogance, for a _litany_ of sins she needed to acknowledge as the painslut moaned around Master’s dick. Blake knew her blows were nowhere as vicious as Pyrrha’s, as sharp as they ought to be, but a glance at Master’s face revealed the cruel delight he was taking in his new girl’s degradation. As he gripped her hair tightly and _released_ in her mouth with a dark laugh of pure power and dominance, Blake felt her knees grow weak as she and the Jiangshi were both brought to an honest orgasm purely from _knowing_ they had been good, worthy, and _above all_ obedient slaves.

But Master needed to rest. His cough was coming back to him, and Blake and Coco both knew that their duty now was to reassure and relax him. Coco crawled into bed with him, her generous tits making a fine pillow as Blake joined him in the bed as well. He deserved the finest, and as she cuddled him close to her body, she knew it was their duty to bring him all he deserved. 

Everything. He would have _everything._

* * *

_SHRAK_

_SHRAK_

_SHHRRAAK_

The hooded woman ran a whetstone across the blade of the scythe. It was a shame that it was kept in such poor condition—really, she was doing the farmer a _favor_ taking it off his hands. And he certainly didn’t need a scythe anymore, not after what she’d done to him. Really, of the two, he’d probably prefer having his blood back more than the scythe. But not much could be done for him on either, not now. So she continued to sharpen the blade.

She didn’t like France, but she had to be here. And she hadn’t liked London much, either, so it wasn’t like this was so much of a step down. Still, she really didn’t like having to travel to take care of problems, and that’s what brought her across the Channel.

Ruby was a foolish girl, thinking her sister could take care of this problem. But Crescent knew what Ruby didn’t—there was no one in this world who could be trusted other than yourself. And even then, Crescent knew she didn’t _really_ trust herself. She _was_ Ruby, after all, and Crescent knew that disloyal bitch had tried to have her killed more than a few times.

_SHRAK_

_SHRAK_

She was starting to like this scythe. Not enough to trust it, she knew to _never_ trust, but it was useful. Much more useful than Ruby’s network of business interests that were only out for themselves. Crescent ought to drain them all, teach the stupid bitch a lesson about trust. But she knew that wouldn’t work. She’d tried it before.

What a pain to be at war with your own body like this. What an _endless_ nuisance it was...

Ah, but sometimes Ruby had the common sense when to step aside and let Crescent out. Things that couldn’t be solved with numbers and spies and accountants, problems that were best solved with blood and steel. Her network of spies was helpful, and Crescent could begin to admire the deviousness of using Ruby’s own “sister” as bait. They told her that the Jiangshi had been bested by Pyrrha—not a vampire to underestimate, even by Crescent’s sense—and turned into thralls.

Fitting punishment for _weakness,_ really. But an annoyance—the human had started to develop a bit of an army, the kind Crescent couldn’t fight all at once. But the spies kept giving her information, kept giving her hints and clues that Ruby was able to piece together, and then, she could hand all that information over to Crescent, who could carry out what needed to be done.

Jaune Arc. The _real_ target, what those Jiangshi didn't understand in their arrogance. Archivist of the Strasbourg chapter of the Order of St. Longinus. No surviving family to exploit, which was disappointing—Crescent always had the most _fun_ when there was a family member to use as a hostage—but an interesting opportunity with a Knight of the Order… an Inquisitor even. That got Crescent's attention, and now she was interested in this Nora Valkyrie of Sweden. They had studied together in Rome, and had maintained some correspondence before now. An opportunity…

Crescent was a careful huntress. A vampire who relied on her other personality to put all the pieces together, and then… cut her loose. To think that _Yang_ thought she was someone as sloppy as Saucy Jack! No, she was brutal, but precise. And Jaune Arc was about to learn that he was fighting something _unlike_ anyone else in the nightime world.

_SHRAK_

_SHRAK_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde for suggestions and feedback for this chapter!
> 
> We're seeing Jaune's condition worsen, both in terms of his health and increasing sadism. Some comments have been speculating on what might be the cause or where it's leading, but I don't think you should close out the possibility this story is headed towards a bad end.


	8. The Reaper

There were many new duties in the service Mulan Ren owed to the Master, but one of the most important of them all was to watch. To observe his other slaves and compare herself to them, to ask if she was serving him as well as he deserved. To learn, to study, to  _ improve. _

Yang, wrapping her generous tits around their worshipful Master’s long shaft, slowly moved them up and down, pressing her soft pillows tight around him as she cooed in supplication toward their Master’s blessed cock. His dick practically disappeared inside her cleavage, a testimony to both the size of Yang’s tits and the length of the Master’s dick.

Ren was pleased to see the look of desperate humiliation on her lover’s face. It was only right that the two of them, who deserved to be  _ unmade  _ for their arrogance alone, even before they considered their unnatural existence, should serve the one ray of light that still existed in their endless unlife.

Their Master, rationally, enjoyed Yang’s tits, and so she had been assigned to be his bed slave, the vampire who was there at all times to pleasure him however needed. Right now, it was through a tittyfuck. Sometimes, he had Ren whip her or shove a candlestick up her ass, or make the two of them wrestle for his amusement. Yang, who once was a master of over a hundred martial arts, now lost her focus when she suffered pain, and so it was easy for Ren to humiliate and degrade the bitch, pulling her hair, making her admit to being a weak little girl, or grinding her face into her pussy. Master  _ enjoyed  _ watching his busty blonde pet being made to suffer pain and humiliation, and so Ren enjoyed delivering it for him, far more than that perverse attraction she once thought could be love.

But even this was a false joy, as false as her dead emotions already were. Because Ren was a failure. A miserable, pathetic failure, who had  _ failed  _ her Master’s simplest commands. She was doing all she could, using every art she knew, and yet, she was simply too stupid, too  _ worthless  _ to find a way to treat her Master’s illness!

She had only managed to keep him from growing sicker, but she could tell by his pale face and the fact that he couldn’t quite devote his  _ entire  _ focus to the luscious tits wrapped around his cock filled Ren with an unbearable shame. She could not identify what malady was afflicting him—it matched no known disease or parasite she knew from the natural world, and examination of his qi turned up nothing like any curse she knew. If she was not such a useless slave, she might be able to identify the problem, and, from there, find a cure.

But she could not.

Ren knew that the  _ proper  _ response to this would be to destroy herself, and relieve her Master of the duty to discipline his least useful chattel, but Ren knew that she had been tasked to serve her Master by treating his illness, assassinating his foes, and tending to his needs. And until he had  _ tired  _ of her incessant failures, she was not to stop trying.

She looked up as the door opened, seeing the twin vampires, the Malachites, enter. Ren knew that she was a failure who belonged in the gutter, cast out from her Master’s warmth and humanity, but she did not  _ approve  _ of the degenerates that now stood before her.

“Speak your business,” she said, testily, “The Master is feeling unwell.”

“Ah, so we see that your efforts are  _ still  _ met with failure...” one began as the other groped her sister’s breasts, hoping to entice their Master’s eye.

Fortunately, the stupid sluts should have known that Yang’s titfuck would be  _ far  _ more distracting than their pathetic attempt at lasciviousness. Ren turned up her nose at these crass, ignorant parasites—yes, she knew that she was an utterly wretched, worthless whore herself, but she  _ still  _ had to have some standing above those two depraved abominations.

“Regardless of my task,” she told them,  _ “You  _ are not to waste the Master’s time. So be  _ quick  _ about your interruption.”

A Malachite glared at her, but it was an impotent gesture. “Our... divinations tell us that the vampire Ruby Rose is targeting not our Master, but other members of his Order. Our visions are… strangely vague, but we believe she is targeting a Nora Valky-”

“Nora?”

All were stunned into silence for a moment from their Master’s sudden outburst. All but Yang, who dutifully continued working his dick with her fat tits.

The Malachites regained their composure. “Y-yes, our most honored Master. Shall we-”

“Go,” he said, his eyes wide, “She’s in-  _ arrkh-KAFF!”  _ he hacked and wheezed, “she’s in Amsterdam… she’s the- the Inquisitor for the chapter there. D-don’t let… don’t let  _ anyone  _ hurt her.”

It was a command. Ren knew in the core of her very  _ being  _ that she wouldn’t even think before destroying her body if it meant the protection of this Nora. Even Yang’s eyes seemed to burn with a fire that told Ren that, even as broken as she was now, Yang would turn  _ all  _ of her art towards destroying her sister to protect a woman she’d never heard of.

Good. That was  _ exactly  _ how a slave should respond!

The Malachites, however, had been given the direct order, and while Ren  _ wished  _ that some of her useless incompetence could be forgiven by rescuing this woman that the Master held so precious to his heart, she knew it was not her  _ place  _ to take on a task that was not assigned to her. If she acted against the Master’s will… she might jeopardize the mission, and if she were to do that, Ren couldn’t  _ imagine  _ the punishment she would deserve. If there even was a  _ torture _ sufficient for the magnitude of her crime!

So she merely looked over to her companion, blissfully servicing the Master’s rod, radiating the pleasure of knowing that she was a good and useful slave, that her tits could bring him the pleasure he deserved. Even Ren felt a little better seeing it, a reminder that, even if they were reprehensible monsters, their bodies still had value to their wonderful and kind Master.

Alas, that they could not find a woman who could serve the Master in both body  _ and  _ soul.

How tragic it was that the Master and his beloved were parted. That he had to make do with their inferior cunts while she was away… but Ren also felt a note of  _ concern  _ as she thought further about this.

The thought that this  _ woman  _ could be so precious to the Master, and yet, she did not make the effort to be by his side in his time of need? Ren would never presume that her opinion was worth more than that of a human’s, but this  _ repulsive disrespect _ for this most just, most perfect, most  _ worshipful man  _ filled her with a deep and savage anger. Did she know that she held the pure and singular token of his love? Did she realize the unimaginable value that came with it? How Ren would  _ weep with infinite joy,  _ just to know her  _ body  _ was desirable to him? Much less her  _ soul?  _ The Master was suffering, and this stupid, ignorant girl… 

Ren carefully fixed her focus and calmed herself. Her anger was unbecoming, and to think a dark thought towards one who was precious to The Master… she ought to punish herself for it. Perhaps Yang would enjoy returning the favor and make Ren  _ scream  _ what a base and vile whore she was as Yang savagely fucked her ass? The Master would surely enjoy seeing her put in her place, and that was all the reason Ren needed for  _ anything  _ anymore.

* * *

There were a few things Crescent admired in humanity. Not many, but… a few. Like this abattoir. The old style of butchering cows simply wasn’t  _ enough  _ for humanity, no, they had to  _ improve.  _ Increase efficiency, increase capacity, spill more and more and more and  _ more  _ blood, with a zeal Crescent understood so very well.

Ruby understood humanity’s great talent and ambition in bloodletting, but she studied it at a distance, draped over in fancy words like “Empire” and “colonies” and “exports,” and while those instruments of indiscriminate murder churned on a planetary scale, it lacked the simple direct honesty of the facility Crescent was sheltering in. It was a beastly place, and she felt quite at home within its walls.

But she knew she wasn’t the only beast in the world…

She could always  _ smell  _ a vampire. When Crescent was first brought into existence, when the dark, wicked blood entered the veins of the young girl, not yet even of twenty years, her mind now inhabited, Crescent knew the smell of a vampire. A repulsive, unpleasant thing, and she was of half a mind to just exterminate the lot of their entire race, just to rid the world of their putridness. But that was beyond her ability, so Crescent instead cut a deal with Ruby: if she couldn’t cleanse the rottenness of the world, she’d  _ rule  _ it. And mete out whatever power she felt like delivering whenever the  _ stench  _ of a bloodsucker entered her nostrils.

Grabbing her scythe, she dragged it behind her, admiring the iron  _ shriek  _ it made on the floor. No need for subtlety. Crescent  _ knew  _ these bitches, and they’d surely want to make a whole  _ production  _ of their ambush.

“Well, well, well...” she heard the Transylvanian accent of one of the two most annoying vampires in all Europe pipe up. “How are we not surprised to find you here… don’t know if it’s the blood or the offal that suggests your presence  _ more.” _

Crescent wasn’t one for talking. She spoke with blood, not words, but she knew that her prey was the preening sort, the kind that liked to  _ talk,  _ and in doing so, revealing their soft underbelly. An exploit that wasn’t available to Crescent as she was.

It was time to give  _ Ruby  _ the floor.

“Ah, the Malachites,” she responded confidently, “Two bodies, one brain. Or, in other words, a half-wit!”

The vampires seemed slightly bemused by the comeback. “Been working on that long?” one of them asked.

“Nope!” she cheerfully replied, ”Some things just come to me too easily to take any real credit for them.” Yes, she was outnumbered two to one, and the Malachites didn’t claw their way to the top of the Transylvanian Legacy by being weak. But… well, they had their little fiefdom, as storied as it was, while  _ she  _ had an Empire on which the Sun never rose.

But she could feel the impatience inside her! Walking with both Ruby  _ and  _ Crescent made her… uneven. Too excited, too  _ hungry  _ to be okay with a conversation when there was  _ prey  _ to feed upon. Cracking a wild grin at her foes, she asked, “So, tell me, did Weiss send you, or-”

Without waiting, Crescent streaked forward, hurtling herself like a missile at her foes, her scythe ready to reap some skulls!

* * *

They struck in perfect coordination. 

Their claws were sharp, their strength, tremendous, and the two of them moved with a cohesion greater than any other pair in the world, their shared mind commanding their bodies as easily as a normal mind could coordinate two hands. They were the Malachites; they were unlike anything else in all of Europe. But they had to give her this: Ruby Rose was easily one of the best fighters on the continent. Perhaps not as strong as Pyrrha, but she fought with a zeal that put even them on the back foot. As if to emphasize the point, she was fighting with a farming implement and swung it with an ease and grace that would almost make one think that it  _ was  _ a weapon, designed and built for fighting two attackers at once. And worse, she was a more flexible fighter than their divinations told them to expect.

Every time they thought they had Ruby figured out, she switched, letting her other mind take over. It was difficult to tell if they should anticipate wild, heedless strikes or strategic, calculated sweeps. She’d switch at will, with no warning or cues—whatever dark conflict swirled behind those inhuman eyes, the Malachites were unable to discern. But they could most certainly see when the snarling beast suddenly leapt back to dodge a surprise attack and effortlessly smash the Malachites together… only to switch back to her savagery and strike with a relentless speed that forced the both of their bodies onto the back foot.

But what  _ neither  _ mind understood was that the Malachites were the Voivodes of Bucharest, they held the most ancient and esoteric vampiric lore. Some lores that even  _ they  _ feared to use, but that was their old, unenlightened selves. They had  _ His  _ blessing, and what need had they to fear when the Lord High Himself was their light and direction?

No, there was nothing for them to be afraid of. Let the Child Queen think she was besting them—the real fight wasn’t with blades or bone, but with the subtle shifting of dark magic, the layers woven thick as little Ruby, so artful, so careful, was swinging blind as she blundered into their many intricate webs.

Their fight became a dance, an elaborate improvisation, a waltz of life and death, the line between the darkness and the light. And while they felt a wicked thrill of dominance knowing they would best this impudent brat, they also felt a sense of holy purpose. Mercy. They were enlightening her, and even if redemption was beyond any of their tattered souls… they were in service to the Most High. He who created the Universe. And there was nothing He could not do—even redeem the irredeemable. To raise them up in His sight and bestow His  _ love  _ upon them.

It was a delicious thought, to see this doxy killer, who wears the guise and semblance of the innocent schoolgirl, purified, stripped bare of all her sin and her clothing, her body now an offering to God. Beautiful, beautiful beyond belief!

With a wild  _ hallelujah,  _ they unleashed the spell and began the redemption of the Reaper!

It was obviously successful. Ruby suddenly cried out in pain as she tumbled from her feet and  _ thrashed  _ upon the ground, clutching her skull as the curse they wove so intricately revealed itself  _ throughout  _ her corrupted being.

“Wha- what’s… happenin’ t-to me?“ she asked, her mind struggling against the bonds they’d placed on it, unaware that the power of the curse came from turning the victim’s will against itself. From twisting up their  _ mind,  _ a spot no vampire could truly defend against. Even the Malachites feared this magic, knowing that if they lost control of it, it would turn upon them and reduce their own minds to shredded tatters!

And Ruby, with two minds inside one brain, was receiving it  _ twice  _ as hard.

Clutching her hands to her skull, she  _ shrieked  _ with pain as the magic pulsed within her. All her knowledge, her labyrinthine plots, her vast organizational network,  _ every strength she had  _ was now turned against her. The stupid cow was desperately trying to hold her mind together but every act of concentration, every thought in her head just  _ fueled  _ the spell more, burning away her mind and leaving her in an utterly  _ helpless  _ state.

As she crumpled and struggled in vain, they knew they could strike now. Could leave her as ash for  _ daring _ to hurt one who was dear to Him. They looked to each other, silently acting out the conflict they were wrestling in their minds. The little whore  _ deserved  _ to die. Deserved a fate much worse than death. But… but they were not  _ those  _ creatures anymore. They were the Haidmaidens of the Lord, Ancillae Domini. Theirs was to toil in this sinful world, to forsake their baser nature and seek the redemption of the world.

So instead they gazed down in divine compassion to their newest sister, reborn in the light. And reborn she was—she had begun sucking on her thumb, trying to comfort herself as her now-fractured mind struggled to put together more complex thoughts. How  _ adorable.  _ She looked up at them, more confused than frightened now, the dark mastermind of the British Empire unable to  _ quite  _ put together how she knew these two.

“Aww, there, there Ruby,” she said, affecting baby talk to the addled vampire, “It’s okay… you’we just having a scawy nightmawe.”

“H-huh?” she asked, before quickly blinking, the tears filling up her eyes. “N-Nightmawe?”

Her new voice, so… so  _ uncertain  _ and fearful, oh, it was all so  _ cute!  _ They reached down to stroke her hair and soothe her. She was called the Child Prince for both her young age at her embrace and for being scarcely even a century old, but now, as the Malachites pulled her into their arms and peppered her forehead with gentle kisses, there was a new reason for her title.

“Don’t worry,” they told her, “We’re taking you home to Daddy, where he’ll make  _ everything  _ better. You won’t have to think about any scary bad things when  _ Daddy  _ can protect you...”

“Daddy?” she asked, confused, but then, some spark of recognition flashed in her eyes as she realized she knew that word. “Daddy!” she giggled, and, with a dreamy smile, hopped up to be led to her new destiny.

* * *

Yang watched with jealousy as Weiss choked on their Master’s cock. She didn’t need to breathe, of course, but the sight of the prissy bitch struggling to manage Master’s dick down her throat was certainly improving the aesthetics of her blowjob. Yang wished it was  _ her  _ instead being rewarded… perhaps with something plugging up her ass and pussy as well. She’d had her nipples, tongue, and clit pierced as a sign of her devotion to her Master, as well as tattooed mocking insults on her own flesh, but it never felt like she had been punished  _ enough. _

She awaited the day when Ren finally found the source of their Master’s illness and could recover. Her punishments for her whorish, parasitic experience were currently being assigned by Pyrrha and Weiss, who were in charge while their Master was recovering. Yang understood that in the hierarchy of their little harem that Pyrrha was the foremost vampire—Yang had learned  _ why  _ firsthand—but Weiss held a more subtle power and influence. Something that could be _challenged._ Another benefit of Ren finding a cure would be them moving up in the Master’s esteem, but the real, true benefit would still be to feel her Master’s hand bring down the lash upon her whorish body. Only  _ his  _ punishments, from a human who could stand so potently above her despondent reality, could truly hurt her in the way she deserved. The way she  _ craved. _

Perhaps she needed to  _ motivate  _ Ren more. To find  _ new  _ ways of pain to inflict upon her until the stupid bitch understood how  _ important  _ it was for her to  _ find the cure.  _ Maybe she’d take an iron, bend it into the shape of the Master’s double-crescent emblem, heat it red hot, and make  _ sure _ Ren understood what was at stake. Uggh, but then  _ Yang  _ would be wanting the Master’s brand upon her sexy flank! The unimaginably pleasurable pain of knowing she was marked as Master’s  _ cow! _

Her jealousy was only made worse when there came an interruption.

“The Lady Valkyrie is safe!” proclaimed one of the Malachite freaks. Yang concealed her scowl, careful to look like a proper slave,  _ knowing  _ not to give the Master concern about her jealousies. But she didn’t  _ like _ them, and the creepy way they looked upon the Master. But of course, Yang’s mood was worsened further with the appearance of her stupid brat of a sister.

Though… she certainly wasn’t  _ looking  _ like Ruby. And not just the frilly white dress that  _ did not  _ seem like anything her sister would ever wear with all the… lace and ribbons. No, while that was a big change, it was the way Ruby clung to the Malachite’s hand, looking at them  _ fearfully  _ and without anything seeming like recognition.

And all without the Collar, wrapped around that lucky bitch  _ Weiss’s  _ neck.

“We present to you,” the Malachite said with a smirk, “Your newest girl, Oh Most Worshipful Master, one now  _ reborn  _ in your service.”

“She once was the Reaper of London,” the other continued, in their  _ intensely  _ creepy way, "But now she’s just a scared, lost little girl...“ she rested her hands on Ruby’s shoulder, presenting her to the Master, “who needs her  _ Daddy...” _

Ruby’s face immediately brightened, beaming with a childlike innocence that Yang had  _ never  _ seen on her sister’s face—though she, admittedly, had only met Ruby after she had been turned. And the Ruby  _ Yang  _ knew would never rush forward with such careless abandon, springing into bed with the Master and proclaiming,  _ “Daddy!”  _ as she wrapped her slender arms around him.

Yang moved to interject to remind her brain-addled sister that she was  _ not  _ to presume so much of the Master’s personal space, but… ugh, she could  _ see  _ how much he was enjoying her eagerly showering him in kisses. Glancing to the Malachites, she saw how pleased they were with themselves. A glance to Weiss revealed her delight that her little crush would be joining them. Yang quietly seethed, wondering if there was a girl  _ she  _ could fetch for the Master that would make him happy with her.

“But do not let looks deceive you,” one of the Malachites said as her sister gently pulled Ruby back, “for though she might be the image of an innocent young maid…” she lifted Ruby’s dress and revealed the unobstructed view of her pussy, wet and shorn, “she’s quite the naughty girl.”

Ruby squirmed against the Malachite’s grasp, but it was obvious that the witches had done quite a bit to prepare her for the Master. Even without the Collar’s influence, Ruby had clearly been turned into a randy little slut, though she currently appeared to lack the mental sophistication to understand the  _ word  _ “fornication,” much less understand it.

But the Malachites would help with that. As one held Ruby in her exposed position, the other gently reached for the Master’s cock, still slick from Weiss’s long and leisurely blow job. It was so hard and so big… Yang was mesmerized by the sight of it and filled with such a  _ longing  _ to make that cock happy… she’d do  _ anything  _ for that cock, that sweet cock, whose strength and engorgement was the single greatest proof that her body, which was to say, her  _ being, _ had any value whatsoever. Feeling it engorged with blood as she squeezed it between her big, heavy titties made Yang realize that the Master’s blood was so much more precious, so much more valuable than anything she’d ever had before.

The twins guided their bodies together, keeping Ruby from covering her chest as they undressed her and guided her to sit athwart the Master’s chest… and then they lowered her onto his godlike  _ cock. _

“Oh Daddy!” Ruby wailed, “It’s so- it’s so- Oh! It’s so big, Daddy!”

The Master grunted, pushing further and further, making Ruby’s voice grow higher and Yang’s pussy so much wetter, imagining the  _ pain  _ of having her pussy stretched out by the Master’s fat dick. She knew she was a sodden mess down there, such a slutty, dirty mess of a slave who needed to be punished for being such a whore,  _ oh please, oh please Master punish me,  _ Yang silently begged as she watched the Master fuck Ruby faster and faster, harder and harder, the most erotic sight the furiously jealous Yang had ever seen!

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Ruby squealed as she bounced up and down on the Master’s cock. From behind, Weiss moved in to squeeze Ruby’s breasts and pull the surprised girl into a sapphic kiss. The Master groaned in admiration and Yang  _ seethed. _

Ruby was her little sister!  _ She  _ should be the one fingering and squeezing her and teaching her how  _ best  _ to present herself to her new Daddy, but unlike that arrogant  _ cunt  _ Weiss, Yang  _ knew  _ it would be improper to interject herself into the Master’s affairs! She wanted to  _ punch  _ that white-haired bitch right in the face, just utterly pound her flat and teach her to submit!

But that would be inappropriate. Yang was an _obedient_ slave, and she knew not to fight with the others. So she just watched in  _ furious  _ silence that the Master was being so  _ openly  _ disrespected by such willfully disobedient slaves. Though the worst part was… he seemed to have no objection that Weiss had lost all sense of her place!

Instead he pumped away with a vigor that made Yang feel terribly inadequate. Had she- had she not been desirable enough for him? She awkwardly hefted her chest, wondering if she’d relied too much on their size and, in her carelessness, had found a new way to disappoint the one man who truly mattered. Should she ask Pyrrha to beat her harder? Her and Ren together? Should they be tied up, burnt, beaten? Looking at the Master’s face, the way he  _ exalted  _ in thrusting into Ruby’s tight snatch, Yang felt a desperate  _ need  _ to be better for the Master. She’d do anything, anything at all, if only to...

Her thoughts were interrupted as she saw the Master reach his climax. The look of pure pleasure on his face filled Yang with such a serene fulfillment that she couldn’t think of her own inadequacy while washed in the relief that the Master was  _ pleased.  _ He should be pleased, should always be pleased. Every thing that brought pleasure to the Master was good, and there was no worthier task than to find new and better ways to please him.

“Mmmm...” Ruby sighed as she leaned forward on the Master’s chest, “I’m Daddy’s good girl...”

Still impaled upon his shaft, Ruby gave no resistance as Weiss wrapped the Collar around Ruby’s neck. And though Yang was  _ furiously  _ jealous right now, even she couldn’t help but simper at the sight of something as beautiful as Ruby realizing the depths of her depravity… and the  _ utter perfection  _ of the Master who would take pity on their useless selves. Bloody tears pooled in Ruby’s eyes as she was moved by the impossible weight of gratitude that they had another  _ chance  _ to be worth more than an animate corpse.

But still, as lovely a sight as it was, Yang still had to look out for herself.

“Master...” Yang said softly, careful not to seem like she was interrupting, “There is… more to this vampire than she appears.”

Master glanced at her warily, and Yang felt a flutter of pleasure that she had been useful… and had moved her stupid bratty sister down the list! “Ask her about  _ Crescent,”  _ Yang said, shooting a satisfied look over to Ruby, still staked on his cock, blinking in confusion.

He coughed, but cleared his throat, understanding the dire importance of Yang’s warning. “Who is… Crescent?” he asked.

Yang watched as Ruby  _ twitched,  _ childlike confusion and wonder draining from her face as the unmistakable _killer_ revealed herself... except, this wasn't the Crescent Yang knew. Just like Ruby, her mind had been _broken_ by those twin witches. More like Winter than the bloody-handed killer who'd terrorized London.  


“I… have no will but yours,” Crescent replied mutely. “Whatever you order me to do, I shall carry out.”

“Good...” Master replied, his voice hoarse and weak. He shouldn’t have to waste time giving attention to  _ Ruby  _ when Yang was right here to be whipped for his pleasure! She was about to suggest  _ just  _ that when she felt Ren’s hand on her shoulder.

“Yang,” her companion whispered, “I would speak with you for a moment? It concerns the Master’s health, and I would require your aid.”

Any protest Yang had from her interruption was immediately forgotten as the greater task was now before her. The room was distracted with Crescent, as the Malachites began to lasciviously grope the emotionless girl for the Master’s entertainment, so none noticed as the Jiangshi slipped away. And once out of the room, Yang became  _ ecstatic  _ at the possibility now before them!

They would save the Master and all those vampire bitches would learn who was  _ really  _ his best and most favorite slaves! Their course and unrefined ways understood nothing of proper submission to their Master, and Yang could already imagine how she and Ren would teach them their place!

* * *

Paperwork. Always more paperwork. Stacks and stacks of paperwork, and when she had finished those papers, her aide brought her  _ more  _ papers.

Letters to be sent. Orders to sign off on. Reports to review. Budgets to approve. More and more and more and  _ more. _

Truly, this was hell.

Nora had become a vampire hunter because it spoke to her  _ zeal.  _ She had always been a rambunctious child, a relentless searcher who refused to be penned in by any authority. The orphanage had grown endlessly frustrated with her, but Nora knew that her future could only come by forging her own path.

So she dug into the dark corners, explored places she ought not go, and discovered things that didn’t like being discovered. She’d gotten lucky—her first encounter with a vampire had not only been at the moment the Order was moving to ash it, her presence had been the distraction that made their mission possible. So instead of getting herself, and everyone else, killed, she had been the stroke of luck making it possible to free Trondheim from the depravities of the murderous Tyrian Callows. Her jubilant saviors had been quite a bit more forgiving of her interruption in that light, and so she’d been taken into the Order of St. Longinus. Sent to Rome to learn the trade of the Vampire Hunter, where she swiftly became a natural fit for matters of action instead of matters of… paperwork.

And where she met Jaune.

A scholarly boy, from a good family, sent to the Order  _ on purpose. _ He couldn’t possibly be more different than the rambunctious orphan girl who couldn’t read but already had one stake to her name. But he was kind. Open. Willing to indulge her enthusiasm because he, like her, was lonely. The start of a friendship that made the years just fly by as they trained together to become knights of the Order, to become Inquisitors so that  _ they  _ could lead the hunts one day and be the heroes they knew they could be. Nora still remembered the joy of being told she had been selected to be invested with the full authority of an Inquisitor. And she remembered how that joy turned to ash when she learned… that Jaune hadn’t.

She had asked him to join her as her secretary, not thinking of how it might sound to his wounded pride. To Nora, it meant that the two of them would be  _ together,  _ using their respective strengths to protect people and achieve everything they wanted to do when they were kids, but she realized too late from the look on Jaune’s face that she had hurt him. That he wanted to  _ prove  _ himself to her, even though Nora knew he had  _ nothing  _ to prove, that she already cared for him more deeply than she did for anyone else, but… 

Well, it had been the last time they had spoken. They wrote, her more often than he did, always careful to try to tame her exuberance at her new life. Nora  _ loved  _ adventure, the death-defying raids, the audacious strategies, the Church’s willingness to let her  _ blow stuff up  _ if it got the target… but Jaune was an archivist now. And all his dreams of being a true Inquisitor, a knight against the vampiric menace had been relegated to paper shuffling. It would seem… cruel to brag to him about how thrilled she was to live  _ his  _ dream, but dammit,  _ she just wanted to talk to her friend! _

She missed him, dearly. She’d been putting together a proposal, something to cash in the chips she’d won with her recent successes, where the scholars of the Order,  _ such as the archivists,  _ would work more closely with the Inquisitors. After all, practical experience and scholarship  _ needed  _ one another, but she really just wanted it as a reason to have Jaune moved up to her Chapter, so they could hit the field again, just like old times. Just like she always imagined it.

But now, Nora wasn’t even sure where Jaune  _ was.  _

Even an Inquisitor wasn’t ranked high enough to learn what happened. She had asked Cardinal Port for some hint, even the faintest  _ clue  _ of what had happened, if he was safe, if she could  _ help  _ him, but… nothing. No word and all Nora could do was wait, desperately, for some indication that he was alright. She told herself it couldn’t be  _ bad,  _ not if the Church still considered him alive and active in the Order—in good standing, even—just… no word to or from him. Whatever he found, it was something too big for her to know.

It was an agitating time for that. Her intelligence suggested that things  _ were _ changing, that some great realignment of the vampiric powers was underway. Nominally, she should be  _ thrilled  _ for it, hearing that the bloodsuckers were wiping each other out, but Nora could tell that this wasn’t  _ normal.  _ This was building to something big and something bad, something that left all of Europe—if not the world—different by the end of it.

With everyone going dark, Nora lacked anything more than the most wild and unsourced rumors, things like an ancient Grecian vampire had awoken and begun devouring her descendents, or that a necromancer had mastered a spell of great power that could call forth a vampire’s victims against them. But there were other rumors, rumors that sat in Nora’s gut and  _ twisted  _ there. Rumors that it was a rogue wing of her own Order on a mad Crusade, winning impressive victories now but imminently facing the swing of the pendulum. Or one rumor about a “Dark Prince,” something neither vampire nor human, but a new kind of undead that made even the vampires afraid for their equivalent of lives.

And… something in Nora’s instincts told her that all of these rumors could have some truth to them. But they were rumors, and maybe they were true or false or wild guesses conjured from the smoke and shadows—but whatever they were, they weren’t something that Nora could put enough faith in to say they had any  _ truth  _ to them. A time where she could really use the counsel of an  _ archivist,  _ as well as the comfort of a friend. But, well, that avenue was not available to her now. So she was left to conjure up fantasies, night terrors of Jaune in the clutch of some ancient evil or under the sway of a fanatic wing or just… not with her. When she needed him most, when the world was chaotic and scary and she just wished she had her Jaune back.

All she could do was pray that he was safe. That their paths would bring them together and she could  _ tell  _ him how much he meant to her. How much his absence pained her.

Until then it was just waiting. Waiting and paperwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up to the end, and Ren thinks she has a cure for Jaune's condition. And Nora's entering the story more directly—could these be linked? I guess you'll find out in the next chapter!
> 
> Thanks to Renarde for feedback and ideas!


	9. Villainy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaune becomes a total bastard.

Licking the blood off her lips, Pyrrha savored the taste as she let the next girl, Weiss, drink her fill as well.

Their Master had long ago ordered them to limit their feeding towards those who were criminals and enemies of humanity, but, Pyrrha had rationalized, there was no greater enemy of humanity than those who would stand in the way of Jaune’s holy mission.

Cardinal Port had been one such enemy, a man scrutinizing too closely what was going on and threatening to raise objections, and so now, they had made him and his inner circle into their personal blood bags. They wouldn’t  _ kill  _ them, of course, but this effectively made them no longer a threat,  _ and _ their need for blood was sated as they eliminated vampires all across Europe. Pyrrha had just returned from Stuttgart with Blake, satisfied to report that Hazel Reinart along with all the other vampires of the Black Forest were simply no more. A satisfying battle, and, more importantly, so many unworthy beasts had been turned to dust at their claws, saving countless human lives from predation! So, in taking the Cardinal and his staff, they were undeniably protecting their Master’s most worthy cause by stopping his enemies before they could even realize they  _ were _ his enemies.

Oh, they weren’t the  _ only  _ blood bags they relied on. Blake had had the realization that, in all likelihood, their Master would desire more vampires in his service, women of beauty and talent that could be made as loyal to him as he truly deserved. But that would mean more blood would be needed, and, with their task so demanding, they knew they’d need to be well stocked. Weiss had had the ingenious idea that they should look to their past successes and use their old talents, now purified and sanctified by Jaune’s blessed control of their base weakness, and enslave those, like Cardinal Port, who might threaten their Master. That both gave them the strength to carry out his orders with the vigor he deserved while ensuring their Master also received all the power and luxury such a worthy man should have.

“Ahem,” Weiss interrupted Pyrrha’s thoughts, calling them to attention as she wiped from her mouth the blood of a young nun she had drained. “With the continued success of our holy mission against the wretched curse of vampirism, I think it is only proper that we turn our focus towards our greatest task: the health and comfort of our Master.”

There were agreeable murmurs across the room as Pyrrha shot a glance towards the Jiangshi in the green dress. She had been tasked with leading the search for a cure for their Master’s treatment, as well as ensuring his care. A weighty and crucial task, but… Mulan Ren might be the most knowledgeable woman in the world when it came to the healing arts.

She stood, her poise perfect, but Pyrrha, the victor of tens of thousands of battles, knew how to read a body’s posture. And she could see a terrible fear within her, the kind that made Pyrrha’s own heart—as still and dead as it was—sink.

“I come to you,” she said, her voice strained, “without news of success or optimism. I know that I am an unworthy and wretched whore who deserves only the most grave of tortures for failing the Master, but… but my failure does not change his situation. His health continues to decline, a cure continues to elude all my ability. His life hands, perilously, at the end of a thread.”

Horror flashed across the room. The thought of... losing their Master was unthinkable. If he were to die, the last spark of meaning in their desperate, worthless lives would be lost, and with it… they would have nothing left to do but walk into the sunlight, reduced to the ash that they  _ truly  _ knew they were. A worthy end for an unworthy lot, but without them… Pyrrha thought of how many vampires they’d already eliminated from Europe. How many human souls they had liberated from slavery, but how many more still lived under the yoke of undead tyrants. In Asia and Africa and the Americas… they could do so much more if they could just find a way to cure Jaune’s illness! And- and- and the loss of their Master- to deprive  _ him  _ from the world!

“There… there is  _ one  _ way… that would ensure his survival...” Ren spoke up.

All eyes immediately turned to her in horror, knowing  _ exactly  _ what she meant.

“Unthinkable!” Weiss cried, “To- to feed our Master our blood would- would  _ corrupt  _ him! It would poison his soul and  _ bind  _ him to us! Have you forgotten that he is our Master, not our slave? We can’t even-”

“He would still be a human, would still have his  _ soul,” _ Yang protested, “And…. we can give him the command to not consider any of our commands, he wouldn’t become our thrall!” 

“Oh, of course,” one of the Malachites tittered, “That’s all you have to do, right? Just  _ tell  _ him not to be our puppet...”

“It’s the best option we have! This way, he would still… he would,” Yang’s voice grew quiet as she swallowed, “He would still care for us...”

“Daddy would never stop loving his Ruby!” Ruby protested, “Daddy  _ said  _ so!”

Yang shot a glare at her little sister, however that was exactly supposed to work. “I just said he  _ wouldn’t,”  _ she growled, “But… what if we ensure that we cycle through  _ all  _ of our blood, plus, as we gather more vampires for the Master, we spread it out so we don’t risk drawing him under any one of our power?”

“That’s great for you, isn’t it?” Weiss sniffed, “All you have to do is  _ accidentally  _ administer your own blood to him more than the rest of us and you’d make  _ Master  _ your slave!”

The intensity of the accusation shocked the entire room, even Pyrrha, and left them all reeling for a moment. But only for a moment. They were natural predators, beastial, rapacious creatures of deceit. Swiftly, loud argument was joined by the room. There was too much at stake.

Pyrrha could tell that Yang and Ren were the only ones who overtly supported the plan, with Weiss opposed and Blake, likewise, looked just about ready to hiss. Coco, Ruby, and Winter, of course, were not really being part of the conversation. Winter wasn’t doing anything, staring blankly at a far wall, Ruby was looking, fretfully, for someone to comfort her, and Coco was fondling her chest. The Malachites, as usual, were the wild card, looking to see who would break this stalemate.

Which was to say, what  _ Pyrrha  _ would do.

She stood up, looking around the room, making eye contact with each and every one of her sisters. From Coco’s vapid expression to Blake’s predatory intensity, Ruby’s childlike nervousness, Weiss’s incisive analysis, Yang’s fierce anger, Ren’s desperate shame, the Malachites’s eager hunger, and Winter’s empty void, she looked them from eye to eye, asserting that  _ she  _ was their Master’s first thrall, his mightiest, and most favored. Her words were not to be challenged.

“We must protect our Master from all dangers,” she began, “We are protecting him from violent threats, from political enemies,” she gestured to the pale, unconscious Cardinal, “and all else that might threaten him. But there are things we  _ cannot  _ protect him from, and his current illness reveals that. If we do find a cure, then how do we defend him from the ravages of time? However,” she cleared her throat, a rhetorical gesture she had learned from Aspasia herself, “we cannot  _ destroy  _ the light in order to save it. Ren!” she stared at the Chinese vampire, “I understand the necessity of this choice, but there  _ must _ be safeguards to protect the Master above all else.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the room. 

“There... is another element,” Ren explained, “I… have considered long the possibilities available to us, and I believe there is something that would ensure that the Master’s purity isn’t tainted by our own corruption.” Pyrrha raised an eyebrow at that, something like hope dawning within her inhuman void. “He needs another, he needs the  _ love _ that comes not from the body, but from the soul. A human, whose love and connection can ensure that he has the guidance of one  _ untainted  _ by our monstrousness.”

Now Weiss raised an eyebrow at that, but in skepticism rather than hope. “A human?” she asked, “Do you think there is any human who could show our Master the proper reverences owed to him? Who could see how absolutely worthy he is? Besides, can we risk allowing a human, one who does not  _ know  _ how perfect and wonderful our Master is, to have such influence over him?” She shook her head. “I have too many concerns to easily agree with this plan.”

Blake grinned. “Oh, I think you could be very…  _ persuasive,  _ if you had to be,” she snickered, “A lovely maiden, caught in a vampiress’s clutches, gazing into her eyes until she falls under her dark sway… quite romantic, don’t you think?”

Pyrrha paused, thinking it over as she glanced to Ren. That… actually might work… a human woman, one who the Master could  _ truly  _ love could protect him from the corruption of their blood. And if she had to be hypnotized to adore him as he deserved, well… they could do that, quietly, and ensure that the world, and their beloved Master, would yet be saved. Yes, yes, that was a plan…

Glancing to Coco, likely the best expert on the subtle manipulations of the mind, Pyrrha saw her grin widen. “We could bring him Velvet!” she giggled, still masturbating, “She’s got, like, really big boobies and she’s  _ really  _ good at eating pussy!” 

Something about that phrase was evidently hilarious to her, and Coco collapsed into a fit of giggles, her fingers dutifully pumping away into her snatch. Pyrrha felt a surge of  _ distaste  _ for her over whorishness, but their Master had given her that title, declaring Coco to be his empty-headed bimbo, and Pyrrha knew not to question her Master’s wisdom. Indeed, the thought of her Master commanding her, the Dragon of Thebes, to be little more than a feeble, giggling slut had a powerful erotic appeal to her. Though… any way in which she might be pleasing to her blessed Master invariably made her knees weak.

“Daddy should have lots of girls,” Ruby chimed in, to the Malachites’ eager agreement, “Cause he’s the best and should have everything he wants!”

“No,” Ren said, surprising Pyrrha to hear the quiet girl interject, “I know  _ exactly  _ who the Master deserves… one he’s desired for so long, but has had the  _ arrogance  _ to refuse him!”

A surge of  _ anger  _ crossed the room. Blake’s eyes narrowed, her teeth bared. A black flame burst over the Malachites. Ruby clutched Weiss, desperate for reassurance that the bad woman wouldn’t be allowed to hurt her Daddy. Even Pyrrha felt her fists  _ clench  _ at the thought of this woman who would be so  _ blind  _ to what was so obvious to them.

Ren smiled, “But she can be taught the error of her ways. Coco,” the addled vampire briefly paused her masturbation to eagerly hear her role in this, “I’m sure you can teach her the right way to serve...”

Coco giggled wildly, “Yes-yes! She’ll learn every skill a Parisian courtesan should know… as well as how to dance and how suck cock and take it up the ass and...”

As Coco continued listing off sexual talents expected of their Master’s future companion, Pyrrha finally nodded, giving her assent to the plan. “Then do it,” she said to Ren, “Save our Master. I will provide the first sample of blood,” she punctuated her words with a quick glare to ensure none of these jealous bitches dared challenge her right to be the first, “and you will administer it to him, in secret. He… should not have to trouble himself with the depths of our failures. But Ren,” she looked the Jiangshi in the eye, “do not allow his  _ light _ to perish from this world.”

* * *

Stretching his arms, Jaune marveled as he walked about his room. For _months,_ this had been a feat beyond his ability, as trivial as it was. He’d been so weak, so tired, and then… he gained the strength to overcome it. Or, well, the herbalist, Mulan Ren, one of the slaves acquired while he was unwell, had prepared him a tincture to ward off the effects of a curse. That had done most of the heavy lifting. She wasn’t yet sure what the _source_ of his condition was, so until a true cure could be found, Jaune would have to continue taking his medicine, but Jaune considered that a fair trade. He always felt quite upbeat after taking his daily dose, like a _surge_ of raw, masculine vitality _pulsing_ through him, that he rather enjoyed taking the thick, black substance. And, after all, he knew _exactly_ what had cursed him. Something that he would not take lightly.

He had done what  _ Pyrrha Nikos  _ could not. He’d tested himself against a divine artifact, against  _ God Himself, _ and Jaune had  _ won.  _ He’d won! The illness was clearly a  _ judgment,  _ for abusing what was a truly holy and blessed device like the Collar, but where was it now? Jaune was still standing, stronger than ever, and  _ nothing  _ could challenge him. He had an  _ army  _ of the most beautiful women in Europe—and two from far-off China—who  _ begged  _ him to use them in any way he pleased. Anything he commanded, they carried out. Anything he wished, they anticipated before he even asked it. Every fantasy, every hidden, lustful depravity… they catered to him.

Yes, things were going  _ very  _ well for Jaune.

“Master?”

Jaune turned to see one of those very things standing in the doorway.

“You may enter, Pyrrha,” he said, savoring the way the mere act of  _ allowing her into his presence  _ caused the gorgeous vampiress to become a trembling schoolgirl. “Come, tell me what news you bring,” he said in a pompous, magisterial way.

It produced an immediate blush on Pyrrha, an immortal killer from  _ prehistory,  _ as she trembled with the quiet giddiness of being in his presence. “There is a potent artifact that your slaves, Ruby, Ren, and Yang, know about. It’s called the Mask of Kuroyuri, and is believed to be...”

But her voice seemed to just drone on and on, speaking of something  _ beneath  _ Jaune’s notice. No, why did he care about some ancient vampiric conspiracy for power? He had more power than anyone in the  _ world  _ and, really, why did he care to hunt some mouldering old mask that sat in a dark tomb or sacred grove or other musty old place. He was  _ alive,  _ he was powerful! He should  _ live  _ now!

Jaune waved her off. “We can deal with trinkets later, pet,” he said, an irrepressible grin coming to his face at the sight of the mighty warrior reduced to a stammering maiden just by the word  _ pet,  _ “Right now, I want to pursue something  _ truly  _ valuable to me.”

He suddenly swept forward, one hand groping and squeezing Pyrrha’s pale tit, pulled from her tight bodice, the other mauling her ass as he kissed and suckled and  _ bit  _ at her neck, a fun reversal of who was the bloodsucking predator and who was the prey.

“Oh, M-Master!” she moaned, this unstoppable juggernaut, this ancient power, now his sexy and eager slave, “T-This one is n-not worthy of your-”

He cut her off with an aggressive squeeze of her tit. “I decide who is  _ worthy  _ of my touch.”

She just about collapsed from his words, her body shaking from what must have been a mind-shattering orgasm—that she, respectfully, didn’t scream out. But Jaune could see her legs quake, her tongue loll, her body suddenly struggling to support herself. This was the mightiest vampire alive, a being who’d walked the Earth for  _ thousands  _ of years, carving a swath of destruction through the strongest foes, human and monstrous.

And she was utterly powerless against Jaune’s touch.

This was  _ power.  _ Power absolute and unquestionable, and Jaune  _ loved  _ it. The Order had thought he was  _ unfit  _ to be an Inquisitor, but now he had an army of vampiresses who did more to wipe out vampires than  _ any  _ Inquisitor in the Order’s history. Then all the efforts of the Order  _ combined. _ They’d condemned him to the dusty corners of their institution, entombed him in the archives, but Jaune had arisen, more powerful than anyone ever before.

Groping her tits, Jaune whispered, “I have a task for you,” into her ear, delighting at the way her entire body shook with pleasure at the prospect of being useful to him. “You recall Inquisitor Valkyrie, in Amsterdam? I would… I would  _ have  _ her come to me.”

“Y-yes Master!” she eagerly replied, legs still unsteady, “Sh-shall we deliver her to you? I would be quite happy to retrieve her for you, and Coco can ensure she learns  _ all  _ the ways a woman should-”

Jaune gave a squeeze to interrupt her. An… arousing thought, but Nora… Nora deserved better than that. She wasn’t one of his vampire whores, after all. “No,” he shook his head, “that won’t be necessary. I want her to see what I’ve done, want to show her… show her all I’ve accomplished.” He beamed, imagining the look of wonder on Nora’s face when he revealed to her that he had  _ bested  _ the curse of vampirism. She’d look at him and see… see a  _ man,  _ not a boy, not some dusty scribe, a  _ real man.  _ And as fetching as the thought of Nora’s… Nora’s  _ curves  _ encased in one of Coco’s sluttier outfits admittedly was, Jaune knew that  _ nothing  _ would mean as much as that look of respect, of admiration on her face.

And… maybe once she saw him as a man, maybe she’d be… interested? She might realize that all his feelings for her were a  _ man’s  _ feelings, not a boy’s simple crush. He could tell her that all these wanton, bloodsucking sluts meant  _ nothing  _ to him compared to her, and she would... Ah, but he was getting ahead of himself—all this non-stop sex with beautiful, adoring, obedient women was spoiling him! Ha, though if anyone had  _ earned  _ a harem of loveslaves, it was him.

“I will attend to it right away, Master!” Pyrrha answered eagerly, swiftly turning to the door.

“Oh, and Pyrrha?” he asked as she snapped back to attention, a wicked smile coming to his face, “Cum.”

Her knees buckled, she  _ gasped  _ as she was brought to a sudden, unstoppable climax. Good. What a good girl, so obedient and well-behaved. She knew her  _ place. _

“Cum!” he laughed, and Pyrrha screamed, her thighs clenching as she had no choice but to “You’ve been such a good and faithful slave! Cum! You’ve brought me so many pretty slavegirls!  _ Cum!  _ You’re nothing but a wretched little slut that begs for my affection. So cum for me, you little whore!”

Unable to resist, Pyrrha collapsed to the ground, orgasm after orgasm crashing through her body as she thrashed and writhed on his words alone. He felt so strong, so virile with his sudden recovery from his illness, and now, he was making the mightiest warrior in Europe into his personal fuckdoll, her minds addled by his constant orgasmic assault. It made Jaune feel  _ good. _

“In fact, do that.  _ Beg,  _ Pyrrha Nikos, beg me for… just beg for me, for my amusement!”

“Please, Master,” her voice rasped, struggling to hold together some semblance of control while her body still quaked from his commands. “Please forgive this sloppy whore for being such filth! I do not deserve your attention, much less your affection, though I desperately crave it! I’m such a whore, I’d do anything for your pleasure! I- I- I finger myself every night, dreaming of your cock! I- I would do  _ anything  _ to please you, I’d let any of your other whores beat me or sodomize me for your amusement, I would-”

“Cum,” Jaune causally interrupted.

Pyrrha screamed, her eyes rolling back into her skull as another mind-shattering orgasm seized her, all as Jaune laughed and laughed, his body  _ electrified  _ with the pure vitality that came with defeating this curse!

* * *

Struggling mightily against the bonds that held her, chewing on her gag and doing all she could to pull off her hood, Nora still knew in the back of her mind that she had likely reached the end of her rope.

She hadn’t given up; she would  _ never  _ give up, but every day of failure gave her a lot of time to think about how it had all gone wrong. Her investigation into Cardinal Port’s recent behavior had confirmed Nora’s worst fears. The Church, even the Order itself, had been infiltrated and infested with vampires. And worse, when her friend Jaune dropped off the grid, it was because… because of the one thing Nora  _ refused  _ to believe might be true.

They’d killed him. Or turned him. Nora didn’t know what was  _ worse  _ in her mind… but she also felt she knew. She loved Jaune, loved him so dearly, the two of them training together to fight vampires, growing up together, his compassionate warmth helping her overcome her feelings of being just a lonely orphan, it all made him the most  _ important  _ person in Nora’s life. But even if she could see him again… it would be better to be dead than a vampire. If his body was still walking, it  _ wasn’t Jaune.  _ And the real Jaune would want to be allowed to rest.

She only wished that she’d have a chance to do it before these  _ monsters  _ did the same to her. That, and her wish to be able to ash one of the bastards when they came for her. 

They’d effortlessly slaughtered her men. A Greater Vampire was a dangerous foe, the kind Nora knew she’d be lucky to  _ survive  _ if it pulled off an ambush, but…  _ six  _ of them, working together? There’d never been anything like this in history, and Nora quickly realized how far out of her league she was as she’d attempted to trigger her last resort—detonating the armory and leveling the entire Amsterdam office. It’d kill a  _ monstrous  _ number of nearby innocents, but it was the only chance to take out these beasts and  _ hopefully  _ stop their rampage across Europe.

Her men, her brave, brave men, the men she’d personally trained, gave their lives to buy her a few  _ seconds  _ of time before they were shredded by bloody claws, guns and stakes and silvered weapons all equally useless against this onslaught. Nora raced to the powder room, but she was in a footrace against a monster with superhuman speed. She’d barely gotten down the hallway before a vampire with long dark hair and a primal, animalistic bearing had pounced, pinning her to the floor. She had expected to die right there, or worse, but instead found her arms bound, her eyes blindfolded, and, most disturbing of all, she heard the creature’s Italian-accented whisper in her ear,  _ “You are so fortunate… to be his beloved...” _

There was not a single meaning to that that could possibly be good.

She’d been spirited away from Amsterdam to… well, it was hard to tell. Still on the continent, she was fairly sure, but hard to tell with how they disoriented her. She was transported by carriages and, at some points, slung over the back of vampires. They wanted her alive, brought to a  _ him  _ that Nora was terrified to imagine. But she had plenty of time to imagine it, her attempts at escape proving to be futile.

While attempting to discover if she could wriggle out of the bonds on her wrist, she heard a door open. Another move? No… they didn’t let her wait on those. They snatched her up without warning for whatever nighttime journey they took her on. This was something... final.

Well, she’d face her maker soon enough. Best to go out on a good note.

She felt hands on her raise her to her feet. Not roughly, but gently. Her hood was removed and she could see the faces of her captors—the red-haired vampiress she’d seen tear Sir Russel’s body to pieces with her bare hands, the dark-haired one who’d personally taken her, another dark-haired woman, this one a foreigner, who was either a vampire or another species of their breed, and a white-haired one that Nora actually had a name for: Weiss Schnee, the ruler of Austria’s vermin. Greater Vampires were rare, old, and secretive, hard creatures to pin down, harder still to  _ name _ —after all, if they only acted once every fifteen years, it was hard to tell if it was the same creature—but she was one the Order had been planning a strike against.

It seemed she’d beaten them to the point.

The redhead removed Nora’s gag, letting her promptly  _ spit  _ on the prissy bitch’s face. A childish shot, but Nora would never stop fighting, even if this was her only weapon. But… well, it unnerved her to see that she received no reaction from Weiss. Not because her attack was pathetic, a bound woman against four Greater Vampires, but… It was the way they looked at her. They looked at her with soft gazes of… it was like envy and happiness and…  _ adoration _ in their eyes as they looked at her.

She remembered the dark haired girl’s words and  _ fear  _ found a home in Nora Valkyrie.

There were no words in her mouth, not in response to  _ that. _ So they’d led her in silence down a long hallway, down stairs and stairs and more stairs—this place was clearly a fortress for those who did not care for the sunlight—and at every turn Nora saw an opportunity to try, to juke backwards, to fall forwards, to make some futile, doomed effort to escape or fight back, but those…  _ looks  _ they gave her… It scared her. They saw something in Nora they  _ loved  _ and Nora had never thought of how unsettling that might be.

Finally, they reached a great iron door, ominous in the torchlight. Nora braced herself as the redheaded vampire gripped the massive slap and opened it, effortlessly, revealing...

“No...” she exhaled in disbelief.

She saw the throne and the “him” she knew to fear. She had prepared for any level of monstrosity, the kind of twisted madman who’d kidnap an Inquisitor of the Church to be his bride, but she hadn’t… her mind had never  _ let  _ herself imagine it might be Jaune.

His skin, now pale and gray, was drawn tight over his body. His eyes were bloodshot and  _ burned  _ with a hellish intensity as they seemed to pierce right through her. Flanked by vampiresses, three on each side, all clearly powerful, gazing upon him with worshipful adoration, he looked even more  _ monstrous  _ amongst them. His body practically radiated an unnatural strength of vitality, even as his skin seemed tight and drawn, almost desiccated. 

It was obviously the side effects of consuming vampire’s blood. 

“Nora,” he said, his voice a pale echo of the man he used to be, “I’m sorry for the forcefulness of my… servants,” the girls undid her bonds, looking…  _ bashful  _ as they did it, as though they weren’t the cruelest kind of murderers to every stalk the night! “But I was too eager to realize how they might interpret my commands. But I had to call you here, Nora! I’ve done it! I’ve defeated vampirism once and for all!”

“Jaune...” she said, too stunned, too  _ dismayed  _ to believe what she was seeing, “What have you  _ done...” _

He laughed, an echoing, depraved laugh. “Exactly what I said—I’ve found a way to turn vampires, to  _ break  _ them to my will and with that… they are my most loyal servants, the greatest vampire slayers to ever exist!”

Nora had seen them tear through her comrades, seen the spray of their blood as these monsters, now sighing with pleasure at Jaune’s compliment, had slaughtered them without remorse. “They’re using you,” she hissed, “Jaune, this is dangerous beyond-”

“Using me?” he asked, “Winter, please,” he said to the other white haired vampire, “tell me… what thoughts exist in your head?”

She looked forward, her eyes blank and empty. “All that I am,” she answered in a hollow, empty monotone, “is the fulfilment of your will, Master.”

“And Coco!” he laughed, turning to another, “If I took you to the Inquisition’s Headquarters in Rome and told you to offer your body to  _ every  _ man in the barracks…?”

“Of course, Master!” the vampiress answered with an unnaturally cheerful voice for an undead creature, “I’d let ‘em do anything they wanted to do to me! I’d gladly be my Master’s cum-splattered mess just to make sure everybody knows I’m such a whore!”

Jaune turned to Nora with a grin. “See?” he asked, “There’s  _ nothing  _ behind their eyes except what I command of them… and I’ve given them  _ quite  _ a few commands...” he added in a lascivious tone that made Nora  _ shudder. _

“Th-then order them!” she cried, shaking her mind back to the present, “Order them to march into the sunlight, first thing tomorrow, finish them off once and for all, Jaune! They’re too dangerous to be allowed to-”

“I thought you would  _ understand,”  _ he growled, his anger beginning to prickle up beneath the surface, “I’ve sacrificed so much—did you know you’re the first human I’ve  _ spoken  _ to in months? I had to isolate myself to make sure assassins couldn’t get me, I haven’t seen the  _ sun  _ in- in- I can’t remember how long! I sent my servants to  _ protect you  _ while I was almost  _ killed  _ by a c-curse, and you can’t even  _ appreciate  _ my sacrifice! Can’t even be happy for me- why, because now  _ I’m  _ the hero and you’re the one in  _ my  _ shadow?”

Nora realized that the situation was turning  _ very  _ bad. Vampire’s blood… he didn’t seem enthralled to any of them, somehow, but the blood still caused instability… madness. She had to be very careful here. 

“Jaune…” she pleaded, “you need to  _ think  _ about this—we trained for this, together, remember? In Rome, when it was just the two of us, we  _ learned  _ how vampires work and how they seduce mortals! They lure you into-”

He cut her off. “No, Nora, I  _ know _ what the problem is. I’m used to vampires. Vampires who  _ appreciate  _ me,” he gestured to the girls surrounding him who simpered and cooed to be mentioned, “Who understand their place and don’t take me for granted. Don’t turn on me, leave me behind,  _ abandon me  _ to pursue their own dreams while I  _ languish  _ for the good of all  _ humanity!” _

She tried to step closer, only to realize that one of the vampires, the foreign one, had gently laid hands on her, preventing her from approaching Jaune. She realized that this was bad, that her only hope was to reach Jaune- somehow reach the man she  _ loved  _ before the  _ worst  _ happened!

“Jaune!” she cried, but his bloodshot eyes looked over her with no recognition, “Please!  _ Please!  _ You can’t  _ do  _ this! You’re not- you’re not a vampire! You’re  _ better  _ than them! Jaune, please, I lo-”

“Ren, my good and faithful slave,” her former friend said to the one behind her, wearing a  _ blissful  _ smile at being addressed, “turn her.”

Nora was about to scream when she felt the fangs suddenly  _ pierce  _ her neck, making her gasp in terror and surprise, but this wasn’t like her blood was being drained, it was… it was like...

She felt a sudden surge of  _ bliss  _ that made it hard to focus on  _ anything at all… _

It felt like cool water was flowing all around her. Like she was lying in a river on a hot day, all her worries and cares being slowly swept downstream. An idle thought reminded her that blood drinking was made magically  _ pleasant  _ for the victims… she’d never been bit before, of course… but that vampires called the turning… the  _ Kiss… _

“It’s better this way...” a voice said. Nora vaguely recognized that the redheaded vampire was talking to her. A faintly Greek accent, somehow amusing to Nora to hear it. She had the… really long hair. “So much better to serve the Master, without being so  _ willful... _ ”

Nora giggled absentmindedly at some joke she thought she was hearing. She certainly wasn’t willful now, was she? There was something… very funny about that… very… very funny…

The water was getting colder and it felt like the room was getting darker. Something was wrong, wasn’t it? Very wrong. She was dying, wasn’t she? Ha, this was all… this was all something.

Something...

* * *

Coming back to awareness, Nora realized that she didn’t feel cold anymore. No, she felt… she looked at her arms. How  _ pale  _ they were now. How bloodless. She didn’t feel angry, even though she knew she’d been betrayed. Betrayed and turned into a monster. They were surely cold, but she did not feel it. No, she felt sad. Sad, and… lonely.

She realized she was naked. No, not naked, she had… she had a collar on. Her hand brushed it, and she suddenly felt so much  _ sadder,  _ so much more aware of how much she had lost from the bite. A heavy blanket of melancholy drifted down upon her, pressing her further and further down. Bloody tears fell from her eyes, uncontrollably. She was… she  _ was.  _ Not a thing of the present, a lingering remnant of the past. A dead thing.

Jaune was there, and looking upon him only made Nora’s sorrows feel deeper, impenetrably so. She had… lost something, in him, and she felt its absence  _ terribly. _

But she was too weak, too  _ beleaguered  _ to say anything. She merely stared at him, knowing that she was utterly broken now, defeated. His very  _ being  _ seemed so much more…  _ present  _ than she felt, and it made her feel even more  _ drained  _ to behold him.

“You will love me,” he said, his words soft but carrying the  _ weight  _ of a command.

How strange a command it was. Nora… Nora already loved him. Loved him more than she loved anything else in the world. But… he had commanded her. Lifting her head, she met his gaze, as awful and terrible as it was. “Of course, my Master,” she said, her voice as tired as her body.

“Say it,” he said, his voice trembling, but… once again, a command.

“I love you,” she answered.

How many times had she thought of how she might say this? And yet, when the moment came, it felt… hollow. Empty. What did it mean to love when there was nothing inside her?

But Jaune did not seem perturbed by this.

“Yes...” he hissed, “Yes, you do. Ha, if only… if only I had this  _ power  _ when I was younger. I made so many mistakes! I cared too much about what was ‘right’ instead of taking what was  _ mine,  _ well, no longer!” His voice suddenly turned dark. “You… you were so  _ arrogant,  _ weren’t you? Once you had your  _ position, _ you didn’t need me anymore. You wanted me to be your  _ secretary,  _ thought I was a joke, just like the rest of them… Well, ha, you’ve learned your lesson now, haven’t you!” he cried.

Nora merely stared at him, bleary eyed. Perhaps his statements weren’t true, but what purpose was there to contest it? If he said it was true, it was the truth. She could already feel her old remembrances, those memories she once cherished, fly away, like so many dead leaves in the autumn wind.

“Kneel,” he commanded.

She yielded to him in total submission. She had no will to resist, no  _ being  _ to deny him. 

“Yessss...” he hissed. His eyes were wild, unfocused, his breathing hard. A strange thought came to Nora, from a previous life. A memory of the effects of vampire blood on a human, a warning on how these unholy thralls behaved, their rationality lost in their addictions. The thought vanished as soon as it appeared—it was the knowledge of a life that had passed. It had no relevance now.

Jaune unbuttoned his pants, his semi-erect penis displayed to her. “Suck,” he said, and, dutifully, she carried out his command.

It felt strange to open her mouth, now reshaped by fangs, and to take a man’s organ inside it. She had been chaste, once, but now, the command overrode all thoughts, her being broken in a deep and fundamental way. She was more shocked by the warmth of the blood in her mouth, how it  _ sang  _ to her. Wrapping her lips around his length, she felt drawn into her command, running her tongue against his glans as she bobbed back and forth. She felt Jaune’s hands grip her hair, murmuring something… something wild and commanding, but not a command, and so Nora focused on her duties.

Having his  _ warmth  _ in her mouth made her… made her suckling more needy, more helpless. He had commanded her to please him, but now she needed it. She longed for his warmth, for his affection, for anything that would make the boundless gulf between them, the living and the undead, seem a little smaller. But all it did was further remind her of how great the difference was… and how much she had lost.

Her sorrow was without measure, and yet, she still felt that desperate need to please him, perhaps, to satisfy him, in the hopes that his warmth, his  _ seed  _ might give her something to cling to. And so she debased herself, her tongue  _ swirling  _ around his length, her head bobbing with an unnatural enthusiasm as she looked up into his eyes  _ pleading  _ for his favor.

But the grin Jaune wore did not inspire anything within her but dismay. He was pleased, yes, pleased with her, but she could see in his eyes that he was more taken by the  _ power  _ he wielded. It intoxicated him, deformed his being, made him something  _ monstrous…  _ that Nora had no choice but to obey. To serve. To pleasure. To love.

He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her mouth off of his cock, laughing as she still continued to try and suck it as he lay down on a bed and gestured for her to join him. She did so without hesitation, and as he reclined, his cock standing proudly at attention, a beacon to her eyes, she knew exactly what he wanted of her.

He impaled her,  _ staked  _ her, and Nora cried out. Pain, pleasure, merely the act of fulfilling his desire to hear her voice, it was any and all of them. Jaune bucked beneath her, her hips rolling in time with his. She was a puppet on his strings now, and she felt… nothing for it. Just the fulfilment of tasks as her body moved through the waters of despair.

A part of her mind told her she would adapt to this. That she would grow into a new role, like all of the other women who now surrounded Jaune. They had been betrayed once. Turned.  _ Killed. _ But they had full personalities, they seemed to  _ enjoy  _ their situation. That would be her one day. She could feel it, the  _ compulsion  _ to appease him, wearing the last traces of her old self wearing down, reshaping into something new. But not yet. Eventually.

She continued to ride him, her voice echoing proclamations of how good he was, condemnations of her ignorance, her unworthiness, or how much pleasure she felt, but whether or not it was true was an arbitrary distinction. There was no pleasure, not any longer. Merely the overwhelming need to scrape for some flicker of life, some remnant of hope that she could pursue. It was tragedy. It was joy. It was grief. It was love. It was the endless future now before her.

Her climax was long and powerful, leaving her body  _ thrashing  _ in its wake as her voice cried out, but she was but a puppet on a string, her actions alien to her as she obeyed the new Will that compelled her. This is what Jaune desired of her, and Nora had no more to her that could resist it.

Another memory, something sad and fleeting, came flickering across her mind, a memory of when she longed for this very contact. When she thought of it as temptation, when she feared what he might think of her if she offered this. How funny it was that this was how that memory ended, before it, too, fluttered away from her.

Leaning forward, she gasped—strange because she did not need air—as she felt her body react reflexively to the stimulation she received, 

“Say it,” he laughed deliriously, “Say what you should have said, when were students! Say what  _ I want _ you to say! Say it!”

“I love you,” she answered, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renarde and Shogun24 for feedback on this chapter!
> 
> This was a divergence from my usual fare, and I admit, I did enjoy writing something darker and crueler than what I normally write. Sometimes had to put the story aside for a while, but it did have a taboo appeal to me. But I hope you enjoyed reading it, and I do think that, now that I've tried it, I'll probably try something else like it again in the future. Already have an idea for a sequel that started from what would be this fic's epilogue, jumping 50 years into the future where an American Witch, Glynda, has been dispatched by the government to investigate something odd in the vampire population in post-war France to see if it's a Soviet plot...


End file.
